


somewhere between desperate and divine

by impossiblesongs



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Angst with a Happy Ending, Avalon itself couldn't sink this ship, F/M, Happy Merthur Christmas, M/M, Post-Break Up, be warned: some alcoholism depression mistakes and growth exist in this story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-02-01 06:29:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 37,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21418237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblesongs/pseuds/impossiblesongs
Summary: Merlin’s slow in his reaction. Pained with every breath. He looks down at Arthur’s hold on him, Arthur’s hands, Arthur. Finding himself wistful already, he nods in the end. Utterly helpless to it anything but surrender.A Merlin Christmas Fic.
Relationships: Gwaine/Percival (Merlin), Gwen/Lancelot (Merlin), Leon/Morgana (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Mordred (Merlin)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 104





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer: These are not my characters. This has been a disclaimer.**  
  
Authors Notes:  
I put this fic up in Christmastime 2017, can't quite recall now why I took it down. I remember I started writing this fic in 2014 and never finished it, in 2017 I finally got the bug to come back & put it to rest for the holiday season. First off, this fic sprung to life when I had to travel 2hrs to a doctor's appointment, the song "Thinking Of You" by Katy Perry was on and it acted as a blueprint towards the envisioning of an outline for how this could play out, if I ever did get to put it down that is. In the end, the idea prevailed. I don’t know how it got to this point. Initially I had planned it to be like 3,000 words the least. 5,000 the most. Instead, it… EVOLVED into what I'm posting. Hope it brings some enjoyment for the holdiay season. 
> 
> Title from the song & lyrics: ‘caught’ by florence + the machine

** Part 1 **

_And I'm caught_  
_I forget all that I've been taught_  
_I can't keep calm, I can't keep still_  
_Pulled apart against my will_

“You could always say no.” Merlin offers, knowing it would make no difference.

“I…” Arthur hesitates. Whatever it was he’s just considering makes a deeper frown form upon his face, speaking aloud more to himself than to Merlin at this point. Trying to fully convince himself of whatever notion he’s set on clinging to this time.

In any other circumstance, Merlin would probably be commenting about how Arthur shouldn’t hurt that sensitive brain of his by actually using it, but this time he is all but silent as the grave. Either way, Arthur is shaking his head as if Merlin had indeed said something. As if his mind hadn’t already been made up all of an hour ago since this whole discussion came up.

“No,” Arthur declares, resuming his anxious pacing, “No, I can’t. You know I can’t.” He’s looking over to Merlin then. “You know I can’t,” he repeats pleadingly, all for his own peace of mind than actually consulting Merlin.

Merlin himself hasn’t been able to offer Arthur much with the feedback. Not when he knows exactly what Arthur is going to do and no matter if he begs or argues the point otherwise Arthur will not yield, not when it comes to something like this.

“He’s my father,” Arthur shrugs helplessly, as if Merlin could ever forget. “I won’t abandon him. For once, he didn’t tell me I had no choice in the matter, he asked me.”

Merlin smiles sourly. Damning Uther more than Arthur because there is no possible chance that Uther had _asked_ Arthur for anything. Manipulated is possibly a better term for what Arthur’s father did. Uther probably just dressed up his demands with likened phrasing in order to make his son think a request wasn’t an order. Still, Merlin remains quiet about such suspicions. To accuse Uther of such behavior has only ever ended in a row and Merlin is not doing that tonight, no sir.

Arthur carries on with his own reasoning, “He asked and I’m the only one he trusts. He could have asked for Morgana to take over the company but you know as well as I do she would use it to end the world.” Arthur breaks out in a smile and it’s a hopeful little thing. He’s hoping for Merlin to smile and laugh and agree, but Merlin doesn’t smile. He doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t agree. Arthur can’t stand the silence for long.

“Leon is holding Albion steady while my father is… _whatever_ he’s doing.” Arthur waves his hand for an added affect, “And I can’t just leave Leon with the burden of carrying the company like it’s his duty. It’s mine. I have to go.”

He does wait for a response this time. Stopping his pacing and staring. Merlin shrugs.

“I know that, Arthur.” Merlin says quietly. “I know that better than anyone. I know what it is to be loyal and to give every piece of yourself in service to something, to _someone_.” He knows it sounds like an accusation but he doesn’t care. It sort of is. “Because it’s more important than anything else in the world. It’s important to you so it’s important to me,” Merlin stood up from where he’d been seated. “I’d rather you do what you have to do even if it means I’m the one to be abandoned.”

“No,” Arthur reaches for him immediately, trying to grab at Merlin’s arm but Merlin pulls away. “That’s not what I’m doing,” he insists. “That is something I could never do.”

“But you _are_,” Merlin cries desperately. “You can’t just leave and pretend that in leaving you aren’t leaving me as well!”

“I’m coming back!” Arthur shouts, shaking his head apologetically at his outburst. “I’m not going away and staying there indefinitely.” Arthur reaches out for Merlin again and this time Merlin doesn’t fight him. He lets himself be dragged toward Arthur and bundled up in those arms, ignoring the reality of the discussion they are having at this very moment and what it really means. That the next several months will steal Arthur away from him and no matter how well he fits there, in Arthur’s arms, like a limb, he will still be torn away.

“I’m coming back to you.” Arthur promises, his voice soft and soothing against Merlin’s ear. “When it’s all sorted, nothing will stop me from coming back to you.”

Merlin feels himself caving. His resolve waning and that’s something he can’t let happen. If he loses his nerve he will start begging Arthur to stay and he isn’t built for that. He refuses that. No matter how it’s killing him, he won’t put Arthur in the positon to deny him or deny himself. Distance is the key because if Arthur keeps pulling him back Merlin won’t be capable of letting him go.

He disentangles himself from the nestled safety of Arthur’s arms quickly. “I need to… there’s no more milk.” Merlin’s excuse is a weak one, he knows this, and that means Arthur will see through it in a heartbeat. “And I wanted tea. But no milk. So. Yeah.”

To no one’s utter surprise, Arthur scowls. “Who the bloody hell cares if there’s any milk?!” He replies, but his eyes, blue and absolutely agonized, say _Your diversion is pathetic but I will blame the milk too if you want me to._

Merlin ignores what Arthur offers as a compromise to this particular choice of distraction, deciding that distance is the only option at this point. Arthur doesn’t exactly expect Merlin’s quick plans at escape routes and so Merlin slips past him easily, picking up his coat and keys faster than Arthur can follow after him. Arthur’s calling out after him and the compromise, flimsy as it was, begins to crumble. Arthur telling him he can’t walk away from this. That they need to sort this out.

Arthur’s words don’t slow Merlin down one bit, if anything they fuel his need for escape. He’s out of their front door before Arthur can even get to him.

Arthur curses at himself. He’s known Merlin long enough. He should know better than to disregard the fact that if Merlin wants to escape from something, especially him, Merlin will always manage to be quick enough to do so.

* * *

Percy and Gwaine owned a pub only a few blocks down from Arthur and Merlin’s flat called _The Round Table._ The pub was exactly the kind of environment Merlin needed to lose himself in. The great thing about the location is that all of their mates stood in walking distance of the establishment. Merlin’s confident both men (or at least Gwaine) had sold their souls for such convenience.

Walking through the double doors, he spots Gwaine at his usual table closest to the bar side, more than halfway through a pint. Lancelot is sitting across from him and looking on at the drunkard with such an expression of devastation it makes Merlin smile fondly.

“Merlin!” Gwaine says cheerily at the sight of him before reaching for his scarf and dragging Merlin down into the seat right beside him. He swings a heavy drunken arm around Merlin’s shoulder and Merlin has to duck away before their heads collide.

“Please tell me you are here to save me,” Lance begs of him.

“That’s me, here to save the day.” Merlin knows his voice sounds grim at best so he’s quick to turn his attention fully on Gwaine, turning his face from Lancelot’s full view. “Should you be drinking right now?”

Gwaine blinks at him and smiles charmingly. “What, are you kidding me?”

“You’re the barman,” Merlin points out. “Shouldn’t you be, oh, I don’t know, perhaps… carrying through with your barman duties?”

Gwaine shrugs uncaringly. “Technically it’s not my job,” he admits with a whisper. “It’s Elena’s. And she is on her honeymoon.” He grins, much too pleased with himself. “And besides, I really can’t be bothered. It’s not like I can get fired anyway.”

Lancelot rolls his eyes, “It truly amazes me that Percy actually agreed to have you co-own this place.”

“Poor Percy,” mutters Merlin.

Gwaine actually hums in agreement and tosses back the last of his lager. “Where’s King Arthur?”

Merlin groans. “Oh, I really wish you’d stop calling him that. Just stick to calling him Princess, yeah? I don’t need that ego of his to turn all cabbage-head leveled again.”

“It’s nothing you can’t handle,” Lancelot says, all smiles. Merlin can see the exact moment his friend catches onto him, eyes squinting slightly the more he stares.

Lance’s got that _something’s wrong, please tell me what it is so I can find a way to help you_ face on again. The man is one of two of Merlin’s oldest friend but there are times, like now, that he wishes Lance didn’t know him so well.

Lancelot kicks at Gwaine from beneath the table, “Stop being useless and get us another round will you.”

Gwaine makes no protests about it so it’s safe to say he’s well and properly sloshed. He staggers to his feet and manages to stay upright every step of the way. Merlin can feel Lancelot staring at him patiently. Waiting. He gives in.

“Arthur’s leaving.”

Merlin’s voice is so low that Lancelot has to lean into the table to hear him better.

“Where?”

Lance’s inquiry induces a proper amount of word vomit and it’s out before Merlin can stop himself.

“He has to go get the new company up and running because Uther’s doctor ordered him to take time off from work like a hundred years ago but he doesn’t listen because he’s an insufferable old git who, supposedly, is having some sort of life crisis or something equally as alarming, and so instead of letting Morgana take over, which is actually the best choice to make in this situation, he’s set his beady little eyes on Arthur; which is all Arthur’s ever needed when it comes to this ridiculous need to please his father in some way or another, and also because he’s a self-righteous bastard who always has to do what is right and noble and _god_ I could just kill him!”

Once he’s finished, Merlin slumps down lower into his seat, sulking because, honestly, he deserves that much. It takes Lancelot a moment or two to fully process Merlin’s outburst because when Merlin rants his words always come out far too quickly, taking the normal folk a bit to catch up.

“The _new_ company?” Lance finally speaks.

Merlin nods.

“But isn’t that the one out of the country?”

Merlin nods again.

Lance frowns in contemplation. “And Arthur actually agreed to that?”

Another nod.

“Bloody hell,” Lance exhales. “Wait, you say leaving? Does that mean you’re not going with him?”

Merlin glares, properly affronted. “What do you mean go with him?! I can’t_ go_ with him!”

“Well why not, Merlin?”

“Because I have a life here, Lance! I’ve got people who depend on me and unlike Arthur, I can’t just piss off and expect them to be okay and taken care of!”

Lancelot nods much too understandingly. “So this is about your mum then?”

“Of course it’s about my mum!” Merlin admits sadly. “She’s ill and… and if she comes around I want to be here when she’s lucid! And if the worse comes I don’t want to be half the world away when she… if she…”

Lancelot knows how hard Merlin’s struggled with accepting the deterioration of Hunith’s health. He tries to hold back what it is he wants to say, what Merlin himself already knows. That his mother is not going to come around. That Hunith is not long for this world, but he doesn’t and Merlin knows he won’t. Because he’s Lancelot and he only offers his concern and support, sans judgment. Offering the truth when it needed to be heard, not just because it should.

Gwaine abruptly bumps into the table, startling them away from their conversation. He’s balancing three pints of lager in his arms and most of it spills over onto the table.

“Drinks for everyone!” Gwaine proclaims and shoves a glass at them before sliding down to his knees and properly passing out on the floor. It’s so unfair because he makes it look so graceful, too.

“I’ll say it again,” Merlin shook his head, “poor Percy.”

Lancelot concedes, “I’ll drink to that.”

“We should probably get him upstairs,” Merlin comments afterwards, when the lager sits warm and happy in his belly.

“That we should.” Lance agrees. “Percival won’t appreciate the customers tripping over the poor drunken sod.”

He and Lance don’t hurry to do so, choosing instead to stare down at their friend in the oddest of fascinations. Gwaine has managed to keep a charming grin plastered across his face even while pissed off his bonce and passed out on the filthiest of floors. It is pretty damn impressive.

They finish their drinks before they hoist Gwaine up from the floor and take him up the stairs to the living space located above the pub that he shares with Percival, tossing him onto the nearest couch before heading back downstairs.

“I should probably get back to the missus,” Lance remarks, stretching his arms above his head and wincing. “I promised Gwen I wouldn’t stay out too late and since she’s been a bit hormonal lately I really don’t want to add any stress.”

Merlin is insecure of his following question but he asks anyway. “You think… you think I could stay at yours?”

Lancelot was readying himself to object, to tell him he should go work it out with Arthur and all other sorts of highly reasonable arguments because he’s Lancelot and he’s usually always right so Merlin hurries to speak first.

“Just for tonight.” He assures. “I can’t go back right now, Lance. I _can’t_.” Words and words and words. He’s heard enough of them for the night. There’s an overwhelming dread at the thought of heading back to their flat and looking Arthur in the face. Just the notion of it makes him feel like dying. “For tonight. I just can’t look at him, Lance. Not now. I’m asking you, as my friend, please.”

Lancelot smiles sadly and places a supportive hand on Merlin’s shoulder.

“Of course you can, Merlin. You are always welcome in our home, you know that.”

“Thank you.”

“Just so we’re clear though, Guinevere_ is_ still pregnant so if she kills you or something try not to hold it against her. She tends to judge herself too harshly.”

* * *

Arthur’s been up all night and in such sleepless agitation that he does something spectacularly stupid. She answers after five rings.

“This better be good, Arthur Pendragon,” the harpy greets, “I’m not exactly your biggest fan at the moment, which I’m sure you’re well aware of.”

His sister’s snippy tone only serves to annoy him more. “Well, good morning to you too Morgana,” he states.

“Oh,” Morgana replies sweetly, “you sound absolutely dreadful. _Good_.”

“Merlin didn’t come home last night,” he informs.

“And what exactly does that have to do with me?”

He suppresses the biting insult that wants to be let free into the world and instead takes a deep breath, calming himself before pressing on. “I was hoping you’d be able to tell me where he is. You seem to have a talent of knowing everything about everyone, which makes me extremely uncomfortable I’ll have you know, but for once it might actually be your saving grace.”

“Well, well, dear brother. Are you willing to grovel?”

“Mor_gana_!”

And she laughs. “Oh, Arthur, you poor thing. I do enjoy tormenting you but not when it comes to Merlin. Please believe me when I say that.”

“But?”

“But I have no idea of Merlin’s whereabouts. I’m sorry.”

“Okay, must be the lack of sleep but I believe you.” He rubs at his brow tiredly. “I only ask that if you do come upon such information you do me the favor of ringing me.”

“I will.” Morgana promises. “Get some rest. I’m sure he’ll turn up sooner or later.”

Arthur offers his thanks and hangs up his mobile.

* * *

It starts low, a gentle sort of muttering, before the words clear and he realizes someone is calling his name softly. He would open his eyes only the fingers running through his hair offer a comfort that lull him back towards unconsciousness. The fingers stop and Merlin sighs.

“Merlin, sweetheart, it’s midday. You should wake up soon.”

Merlin finally cracks an eye open to find none other than Guinevere sitting upright beside him with a cup of tea in hand.

“Come on, up you get.” She pokes at his ribs and he squirms away, ticklish to the simplest of touches. He sits up grimly and Gwen holds out the tea. He takes it and sips, knowing better than to speak without a cuppa first thing, sighing contently the more he drinks. He eventually compliments Gwen for being so effortlessly amazing to him.

“Have you been watching me sleep?” Merlin inquires when he’s a bit livelier and less prone to collapse back into the soft cushions of the guest bed.

Gwen giggles at the notion, “Hardly!”

Her laugh is infectious and it brings a genuine smile to his own face. “Have you heard back from Elyan?”

Gwen’s brother had wed Elena four months back yet they hadn’t been able to get time off from his work schedule, thus their honeymoon plans had been pushed off for the time being. It was only recently that Elyan sorted the schedule out at his workplace and the couple had been gone for a little over a week now.

“Oh, yes.” Gwen said. “They’re due back this Thursday. He said it’s been amazing but Elena is good and ready to come home. She, erm,” Gwen glanced around nervously, whispering, “she also keeps falling down the stairs at the villa they’ve rented out and he’d rather her get a concussion at home where he can better tend to her than out there in the middle of nowhere.”

Merlin chuckles. Classic Elena.

“Besides,” Gwen continues, “he keeps going on about his patients and how they’re getting restless being in other doctor’s hands. I’m sure it’s a compliment but I keep telling him, you only get one honeymoon for a marriage. Take the time to make it special. Of course he’s going to do what he will, but still.”

“Well, then I’m glad they went off at all and had what little time for themselves. They deserve it.” Merlin’s eyes land on Gwen’s hand which sat rested atop her rounder belly. “And that’s just never going to get old, by the way.” He grinned. “Pick out any names yet?”

Gwen shakes her head excitedly. “It’s not been an official discussion, no. We’ve decided to wait.”

“You must have your favorites,” Merlin coaxes her with an impish grin on his lips.

“You’re going to get me in trouble!” Gwen bites her lip to keep from grinning. “But since it’s you. I am pretty fond of Tristan, if we have a boy. Clarine is nice for a girl.”

“Those sound very,” Merlin pauses, deliberately squinting before deciding on, “They’re both very _you_.”

Gwen laughs faintly and bumps her shoulder into his. Once she quiets she asks, “And what about you? Do you think you and Arthur will ever decide to become parents?”

Merlin rolls his eyes instantly. “I really doubt it.” He tries to ignore the slightly bitter taste in his mouth when the words are out in the open and he’s faced with the impending future he’s to live through. Arthur, gone. Merlin, alone.

“Why not?” Gwen pries. Her voice is sad. “I mean; adoption is a long process but it isn’t the only option. There’s surrogacy. And you’d both be lovely parents!”

Merlin notes the cup in his hand has now begun shaking. Reality is coming back to him in waves and he sighs, setting the cup down on the small drawer beside the guest bed. “It’s just not that simple, Gwen,” he answers tiredly, wondering how that can be if he’d just barely awoken.

“Is this about last night?” Gwen says. “Lancelot mentioned something happened but he didn’t go into details. He also made me swear not to tell anyone, namely Morgana, that you were here so I assume you and Arthur had a falling out.”

“Oh, you could say that all right.” Merlin mutters and spots his trainers at the edge of the bed. He reaches for them and begins to tie his laces.

“Arthur’s quick to speak sometimes, especially when he’s irritated, so I’m sure whatever he said he didn’t mean it.” She reaches out and touches Merlin’s arm. The action stills his hasty movements. “So go home and let him beg your forgiveness. Then make him agree to do something equally ridiculous so you can gloat about it later.”

Merlin smiles and kisses her cheek. “You’re too good to me, Gwen.” He finishes tying his laces and stands. “And you know what? I really don’t get what Lancelot was talking about last night. You’re completely rational.”

Gwen arches a brow, “_Excuse_ me?”

“Yeah, he was going on about how you’re a bit unreasonable with your mood swings since you’ve been pregnant.”

“Oh, did he?” Gwen nods, her eyes getting a faraway look in them. The transition of expression is a bit eerie. “Well, I think Lancelot and I are going to have a very long chat tonight.”

Merlin bites his lip, realizing Lancelot may not have been completely wrong because Guinevere looks amazingly terrifying right about now. “I should uh… I should… go.”

Gwen sees him out and Merlin thinks maybe he should phone Lancelot to warn him about what’ll be waiting for him when he gets home. He decides on a quick text with an added apology before debating on hailing a taxi. He decides against it. He could use a good walk to clear his head. Not to mention a walk would mean time. Time that could hopefully let it all sink in properly, the happening of last night and what it would mean. Perhaps he could find some sort of sense in it all. Some manner of acceptance before facing Arthur could come in handy, for both their sakes.

If Arthur goes, no. That is Merlin’s first mistake. Arthur _is_ going. There is no ‘if’ in the matter. Arthur is going to leave him, sooner rather than later, so where would that leave them both? It’s not like Arthur is going over to the States for a weekend getaway and when Monday comes around he’ll be back to annoying Merlin, as is accustomed. Building a new company takes time. A lot of time. Especially if it is to succeed. That time is going to consume all of Arthur’s focus and even if Arthur profusely denies that such a thing will happen the truth is that there will be little room for much else with a company owned by Uther Pendragon. It will wear Arthur to the bone.

Every step forward Merlin can’t help but think of what it will be like to walk the same streets to get to the place he’s called home for several years now. How Arthur is the main reason it’s ever been called that. How Arthur won’t be there to drink milk out of the carton, which Merlin absolutely loathes. How Merlin won’t be able to yell at him about it being unsanitary and disgusting. How Arthur won’t be there to remind Merlin to quit being such a girl about it because he’s done far worse with his mouth and that Merlin doesn’t seem to mind _that_ at all. How Arthur won’t be there to laugh at Merlin because he can never stop the blush that creeps up in his cheeks when he thinks of all the indecencies Arthur has done to him with that mouth. How their bed will still be theirs but Merlin is only one half and that will never make it whole.

Before he realizes it, he’s standing at the front door of their flat and he knows one thing for certain by the time he unlocks that door.

In the end it doesn’t matter whether Arthur leaving changes everything or not. The facts were undeniably simple no matter how particularly hard. Merlin would stay. He would wait for Arthur as long as it took.

Once the door shuts behind him it triggers every single memory that’s been written into these walls. Every single moment that hangs like a mark in the air and how, the further he walks inside, he can practically hear every conversation, every argument. He can feel Arthur’s hands reaching for him, both seeking each other in fits of passion in the middle of the night or at the crack of dawn, and every moment in between.

Merlin finds Arthur in the kitchen. The prat had fallen asleep at the table, drooling unattractively on the hard wooden surface with his mobile still clutched in his hand. The state of him is a complete mess but Merlin finds it somewhat adorable. It makes his heart warm and tears come to his eyes.

Finding Arthur like this, in their home, reachable, isn’t going to be possible in the coming months. Merlin is struck with the need to grab hold of these moments, every single one, tiny as they can be. He has to hoard them, keep these moments close to his heart, because they’re sacred things now. They always have been, and Arthur won’t be here. They’ll be the only piece of Arthur that Merlin can keep to himself when this temporary lapse of separation actually happens.

Merlin wipes away at the moistness in his eyes before walking forward and running his fingers through Arthur’s golden hair. The other man seems to startle at the action but he doesn’t entirely come to. Merlin decides the night must have been rough on Arthur as well and that pleases him in a messed up _it’s a relief to know what destroys me destroys you, too_ kind of way.

“Arthur,” Merlin calls gently. “Arthur, wake up.”

Arthur blinks one too many times before he’s finally fully conscious. Or at least semi-awake, enough to give Merlin a dopey smile of recognition. “Merlin,” he whispers.

“Let’s get you off to bed, yeah?” Merlin offers and Arthur nods lazily.

Merlin helps Arthur to stand and though Merlin is not as weak as he may appear he still stagers to support all of Arthur’s weight against him. He doesn’t know how he manages to hold them both upright until they reach their bedroom but he does. Dropping Arthur into their bed, Arthur tenses in his arms before frantically standing up and gathering fistfuls of Merlin’s shirt in his hands.

“No, no, no,” he blabbers. “No, Merlin. Merlin, _wait_. I need to tell you something.”

“Not now, Arthur,” Merlin says, voice strained as he tries to push Arthur back towards the edge of the bed. “It can wait.”

Arthur is no help. He’s all dead weight falling up against Merlin and backing them up a few steps. It’s truly impossible to maneuver him like this.

“Arthur,” Merlin grunts, legs giving away slightly. “I will drop you if you don’t move, I swear it.”

With that threat, Arthur appears to process it and his limbs lose all their resistance. One step after another and Merlin successfully gets Arthur beside their bed. He has to keep tugging at Arthur to keep him upright long enough to rid him of his shirt and trousers.

“Sleep it out, Arthur,” Merlin mutters when Arthur’s finally horizontal in their bed. “You get cranky when you’ve not rested properly and I don’t really feel like slapping you today.” It makes him smile actually. He adds, “Not much anyway.”

Merlin’s barely turned away from the bed when Arthur’s hand seeks out and closes around his wrist.

“Hold me,” he requests softly, “please.”

Merlin’s slow in his reaction. Pained with every breath. He looks down at Arthur’s hold on him, Arthur’s hands, _Arthur_. Finding himself wistful already, he nods in the end. Utterly helpless to it anything but surrender. 

“Turn the other way,” he says. Arthur does, making room for him. Merlin doesn’t bother ridding himself of his own clothes and instead slides up behind Arthur snugly, placing a kiss on his bare shoulder.

A pointless yearning fills Merlin up because Arthur isn’t gone yet, he’s right there, solid in Merlin’s arms and yet it’s of no matter. Because there is no space between them that the other can’t fill, and now he’s shaking, and Arthur can feel it. He reaches for Merlin’s hand, taking hold and pulling it over, placing it flat against his chest. The heartbeat beneath Merlin’s palm has long been an imprint on his soul and Merlin finds another sort of agony adding itself onto the already unbearable ache that’s building up inside of him.

He would do anything in his power to better Arthur’s well-being. He already has, if their past woes are anything to go by. (Their meeting at Uni, unlikely friendship, eventual romantic engagement.) Every time he does the wait seems longer, harder. He doesn’t ever want to put Arthur in a position where he doubts himself or his decisions and it’s because Merlin loves Arthur that he waits until he’s sure Arthur is asleep to say it.

“Stay with me,” Merlin begs to deaf ears.


	2. Part 2

**Part 2**

It was long past midday and Merlin was still dressed in his pyjamas. Two day worn pyjamas, to be clear. He knew he looked properly disheveled but he lost reason to care fairly early this time around. Arthur had taken off a week prior and by the end of that first day Merlin figured _why bother_. Sure, it only took a day for him to cave this time but Merlin felt relieved, satisfied with his intentions to tuck in and lock himself away in the flat until Arthur had returned. Then, almost as if the world had purposely planned on interfering with Merlin’s plans to withdraw from life and society as he knew it, the visits started.

His dearest and only uncle Gaius made it a point to drop by the flat at his every lunch break. _To keep you company, my boy,_ Gaius had said the first time he’d turned up at Merlin’s doorstep but Merlin wasn’t fooled.

The truth is, Merlin’s never really reacted positively to being separated from those he loves, namely Arthur, for large periods of time. In the past, his mother had been there to coddle him to near-death. It had kept Merlin from losing his mind more times than he can count. Now, with Hunith ill and unable, Gaius felt the responsibility fell onto him. Gaius, however, was not Hunith. There was no way that Gaius’s methods could ever be described as ‘coddling.’

Hunith always doted on Merlin. She’d enable him to brood in whichever way he pleased and for that Merlin was thankful. Gaius apparently planned on _Eyebrow_ing him to death.

It’s exactly what was taking place right this second, actually.

While Gaius readies them both some fancy organic tea he’d brought along with him Merlin can feel the protruding judgment coming from his uncle’s wrinkled brow. No brow, on any human face or otherwise, should have such personality. Gaius need only send that disapproving thing one way or another and it’s as if all you’ve ever felt ashamed for in your life piles upon you.

Merlin damns his luck. Proper coddling, was that really too much to ask for?

Gaius, of course, broke their lingering silence first.

“You cannot sulk forever, Merlin.” He said, setting down Merlin’s cuppa before taking the seat opposite his nephew.

“I’m not sulking.” Merlin lied, staring down at the tea in front of him and doing just that. He even slumped lower into his chair, out of principal.

Gaius gave one of his long sighs and Merlin finds himself thankful for it. In Gaius language, that counted as a worded response meaning, _I’ll let it pass for now._

They drank the rest of their tea in silence and when Merlin saw Gaius out at the end of his ‘visit’ he threw himself back into bed. When he woke, the clock on the bedside read _6:04_ in the afternoon. That meant he had six more hours to go until Arthur would make his daily phone call from America. The prospect dimmed Merlin’s thoughts all the more.

Waiting never was much fun on his own. He thinks perhaps he should go down to the pub and see if Gwaine could keep him entertained for a few hours. The man always had a natural talent for attracting nonsense that kept Merlin on his toes. He’d be too busy keeping Gwaine from doing any actual damage than having to worry over his own problems. Rather than a nuisance, Gwaine’s untamable spirit only managed to make people fonder of him. At least that was his take on things. 

Merlin knows would be the healthier thing to do. To catch up with his mates and let them offer him whatever cheer they could. It would do him a world of good. Even if he is keen to carry on in his melodramatic state, Merlin does acknowledge that much.

That rational part in him doesn’t win that night though. He stays in bed until Arthur calls and after they each hang up the phone Merlin decides that tomorrow he will try. Tomorrow he will make the effort. There was also the added incentive that his uncle can’t send the disapproving _Eyebrow of Judgment_ his way if Merlin’s out when Gaius’s lunch hour comes along. That, in Merlin’s opinion, makes for a winning scenario.

* * *

True to his word, Merlin woke early the next day and took a well-needed shower. Afterward, he finds himself slightly appalled at his facial hair growth when he looked himself in the mirror properly. It wasn’t bad, it just wasn’t his usual look.

He contemplated growing it out some more but then the image of him grown into an old man with a lengthy white beard came to mind. The image was followed with the voice of an annoying blond prat saying, _Auditioning for the role of the generation’s new Gandalf are you, Merlin?_

And _that_ decided that.

As he rid himself of his week-long grown facial hair Merlin cursed at his mentality conjuring Arthur’s response so effortlessly. The fact that Arthur’s voice was so clear and sure in his own mind sent another pang of longing through him.

Newly shaved and dressed, Merlin headed out into the world.

* * *

Gwaine, his ever helpful self, had been shoving alcohol at him constantly since he’d rejoined with the living. Percival was forever sending apologetic glances Merlin’s way and, as always, everyone else simply wanted to hug Percival to death for being such a saint and putting up with his other half’s never-ending shenanigans.

_Poor. Percy._

Merlin was never able to figure out how that relationship was possible or how the hell it had lasted for so long. And there were _plenty_ of conversations about it over the years when Gwaine and Percy weren’t around to hear about it. The gang had even placed money over the guesses of who would wed first, him and Arthur or Gwaine and Percival.

Morgana vowed to win that wager and bet on Arthur and himself tying the knot first but she’d mostly done it to spite Uther. It was no secret that their father never took to Merlin kindly. At every twist and turn, Uther Pendragon had been conspiring to make Arthur see the error of his ways. It took years for Arthur to break out of that mindset and for the most part he had. Merlin knows that happening alone should be a comfort to him only it isn’t. Not truly. The thought of Arthur alone with Uther now was a bitter pill to swallow. If Uther wished so, he could very well destroy Arthur’s self-confidence with one word and that was enough to make Merlin’s blood boil.

If there was one blessing in all of this, Morgana herself had left with Arthur, firstly to be a thorn at his side, but more importantly, she never shied away from keeping Uther in place. If he said anything out of turn, Morgana would be there to counter it. She’d also gone to visit her beloved Leon. Now _that _relationship was not even worth the effort to try and work out. It was literally hate at first sight.

Eventually, Merlin got bullied into getting back to work, like a responsible adult an everything. He worked at Gaius’s Herbs and Remedies shop. After a days’ work he would make a stop at the hospital to see his mum. He’d read to her until the exact second visiting hours were over. Right after that, he would head over to the Du Lac residence to keep Guinevere company since she was on leave from work due to her pregnancy. Doctor’s orders. Elena joined them when she could since her hours bartending at The Round Table varied. Going off to shop for baby things and helping to ready the nursery was done every so often but mostly the three of them just watched crap telly and stuffed themselves full of sweets. Merlin was finally a witness to the so-called ‘mood swings’ in full effect. Rather terrifying, those were.

Of course, at the end of every day, he did have to go home at some point. The only thing he looked forward to was Arthur's phone call. He’d always ring sometime before midnight. They’d spoken via webcam three or four times but they’d realized seeing each other and not being able to _be_ with each other was harder than they thought it would be. It was both too much and much too little. Needless to say, they stuck to phone calls. The company was barely thriving and because of such the hours alone were appalling. When Arthur did call he sounded completely drained and half dead.

And so everything turns itself upside down within that basic routine. Merlin sticks to it like a man drowning and Arthur’s phone calls his only reprieve.

They make it past two weeks. Four weeks. A month. Two months, three months. Gwen gives birth around that time. Tristan Du Lac is his name. Morgana flew back with Leon two weeks after that. Agravaine, Arthur’s godfather and Albion’s co-owner, took Leon’s place.

Four months go by, five, and it’s not any less hard or anywhere near enough but they get through it.

The seventh month trails along. A month until Arthur gets to come back. Come home. But there had been something on the tip of Arthur’s tongue every time they’d spoken for the past couple of weeks. Merlin could sense that without even having to ask of it. When Arthur spoke it wasn’t just words, just a voice. It was a lifeline. Deep beneath the skin Arthur ran in his veins and that’s just how it’s been since the beginning. Of course, he'd noticed. 

Merlin’s mobile rang at half past eight in the morning. It was Arthur.

“Clotpole,” Merlin answered fondly and couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. Arthur would be back in a few weeks.

Arthur usually laughed at Merlin’s wayward terms of endearments.

“Merlin, where are you?” Arthur had asked instead.

“At the shop,” Merlin chuckled. “Which you very well know, or should have. You’re going to have to speak quickly or Gaius is going to give me the eyebrow. You know from experience how scary that is.”

Again, no banter is given back.

“Listen, I know we usually talk near midnight but I need you to get to the flat right after you finish at Gaius’s and ring me when you get there.”

Arthur was talking in his ‘businessman’ voice. There was little of _Arthur_ in that voice and Merlin starts to worry. “Is everything alright?”

“No. I mean yes. Yes, everything is fine.” Arthur assured.

Merlin wants to say _you’re a terrible liar_ but held his tongue and agreed to call Arthur as soon as he was back home.

The rest of the day, time dragged on. It felt like centuries before Gaius sent him off for the day. He messaged Gwen of the change in plans and headed back to his flat. It strangely felt as if he was walking his way towards a beheading.

“Right, what is it?” he asked the moment Arthur answered his mobile.

“Are you home?”

“You told me to call you when I got here course I’m home.” He knows he sounds snippy but he can’t help the nerves jittering him.

“Alright, just give me a moment.”

Arthur’s put him on hold and ripples of anxiety fester and spread beneath his skin. Dread swarms the air and it suffocates with every breath he takes.

“Alright, sorry about that,” Arthur says when he comes back. “I need you to sit down somewhere. Don’t ask me why, just do it. Please.”

“Okay, uh,” Merlin walks into their lounge and does as he's told. He sits on the brown sofa across from the telly and wills himself to breathe. “Okay. Done.”

“Merlin,” Arthur sighed, “I want you to know that I love you. You do know that right? That will never change.”

“Okay, Arthur, you’re scaring me a bit.” 

“There’s been a slight change in plans, Merlin. I’m not going to be able to make it back as we’ve planned. There’s… there’s been an issue that I can’t let pass and I’m not going to be coming home anytime soon.”

The news didn't compute at first, then Merlin felt his heart growing heavier. Settling. Rearranging expectations. 

“Merlin,” Arthur sounded torn. “I need you t-”

“I’ll wait, Arthur,” Merlin promised. “As long as it takes, I’ll wait for you.”

“I don’t want you to have to do that, Merlin. I _can’t_ let you do that.”

“It’s not really your choice to make. You know me,” Merlin smiled, “I don’t do what you tell me. Not going to change now.”

“Merlin, listen to me.”

He can hear Arthur clear his throat. When he speaks again his voice is unsteady and Merlin knows that sound. Arthur’s crying.

“I need you to stop waiting. I _need _you to do that for me because I can’t keep you waiting no matter how willing you are to do so.”

“Arthur,” the sob that pulls itself from Merlin’s throat is full of realization of what’s about to happen. The nerve of him! “Arthur please don’t start begging this of me, stop it. It’s not fair.”

“_This _isn’t fair! This whole situation was never fair! Not to you and I shouldn’t have fooled myself by wishing that it was. I’m not begging you, Merlin, I’m asking you. Let me love you enough to let you go. To find something that won’t keep you waiting, keep you... to end up nowhere.”

Everything after that went by in a blur of desperate pleas and ever-growing heartache. When the line goes dead Merlin lets the phone drop from his hands. He isn’t crying anymore.

He is empty. One half, not a whole.

He doesn’t move from where he’s seated for a long time. When he does manage to find his limbs he tries to make his way to the bedroom but his legs give out before he can even reach it. He crumples in on himself. 

He doesn’t know for how long he’s stayed there. He can see through the windows that the day has passed and that night starts to fall. He loses focus of that rather quickly and it’s forgotten, taking residence in his brain now as non-existent.

He does know that at some point someone picked him up off the floor because when he opens his eyes next it’s dark however he notices the change in scenery. Also, it’s not scenery that he personally owns so it’s probably fair to assume he’s not at his own flat anymore. He supposes that’s a good sign, or should be. For a while there he thought he might have started to lose the ability to see. Not that it would matter much at this point but it’s good to know nonetheless.

He can hear better too. The pounding in his heart that took over his outlook was duller than before. The door to the room he’s in is slightly ajar and the discussion outside is low and hushed, pretty hard to figure out.

It’s another shock to find his limbs deciding to work in his favor because the last time he’d tried them out they failed to cooperate. It aches like hell to sit up but he’s slowly able to do so.

Standing and walking is a much harder feat so he leans against the walls to help keep him upright.

When he peeks through the small gap in the door he recognizes he’s in Morgana’s flat. The conversation he had heard was further down the way. With wobbly knees he decides to go and at least hear what was being said.

Merlin makes it around the corner of the hallway and sees light blaring from the kitchen. It blinds him somewhat. The conversation is easier to make out now.

“I have to say, he’s lucky he’s not here. He’d be a dead man by now if we could get our hands on him.”

Merlin recognizes that voice immediately even though the voice sounds, for once, completely sober.

_Gwaine_.

“You’d have to get in line.” Morgana grits out.

“He was so excited to come back to Merlin. It was all that was keeping him together.”

_Leon._

“I’m more than certain Uther and Agravaine are behind this.” Morgana says, “Uther’s such a heartless bastard more times than not and Arthur’s uncle is a snake in the grass. It makes me glad my mother kept me away from Uther for so long. I’d almost feel sorry for Arthur having to live with the man his entire life but I’m too angry with him to even have such sympathies.”

“It’s just horrible.” Elena said.

“Are you sure he’s alright?” Percival asked. “The way we found him…”

“He’s just exhausted.” Elyan answered. “He’s been through a shock.”

“Has anyone phoned Lancelot?” Percival asked.

“Do you really want that reaction at this hour?” Gwaine answered.

“Not to mention Gwen,” Leon added.

“Gaius?” Percival persisted.

“We’ll phone him first thing tomorrow,” Morgana decided. “No need to get him tangled up in this mess when there’s nothing that can be done tonight.”

“I’m going to go check in on Merlin.”

At Elena’s words, Merlin hurried himself back to the room. He fell into bed and threw the covers over himself. He doesn’t remember falling back asleep.

* * *

When Merlin wakes he’s disoriented. There is light shining in from the window even though the skies appear grey. The sun must barely be rising.

But then he remembers.

It feels as if his entire body is sinking, pulling him down and keeping him from escaping. The air is trampling on him. He wants to escape yet another part of him, a large amount, wants to be buried by it and be done. He’d gladly accept anything that would help him do so. His stomach rumbles in protest to such plans. His body wants food and in wanting food that means he’s still alive.

He groans at that.

_Good going Merlin, so much for wanting to linger in your hopes of death for the rest of eternity._

Kicking the white sheets off of himself he climbs out of the bed. He really hopes he doesn’t see all of his mates still there because he doesn’t want to face them right now. He takes a deep breath before quietly stepping out of the room and heading towards the kitchen.

Leon is up and about in his pyjamas rummaging through the cupboards.

“Morning.”

Leon practically jumps out of his skin at that and drops the box of sweets he was sneaking out. Morgana always hid them from Leon because he’s sort of got a sugar problem. She's also not entirely fond of how he disregards his health for the sake of sweet sugary treats.

“Jesus, Merlin!” He cracks a smile before bending down and picking the box up from the floor, “Scared me half to death.”

“I do have that effect.” Merlin slides into one of the island stools and rubs at his eyes.

“I thought you were Morgana.” The relief in Leon’s voice is tangible. They all sort of know he gets up earlier than usual to sneak a snack before Morgana has a say in it. It’s sort of sad really because Morgana _does_ know about it and Merlin is genuinely terrified for when she chooses to take her revenge.

“Some of your clothes are in the wash. Brought it over from yours last night.” Leon informed.

When Merlin opens his eyes again Leon has that look. The exact look Merlin wanted to avoid. Instead of saying anything, as Merlin feared, Leon sets his sweets down and turns around to rummage in one of the other cupboards, retrieving two glasses and a bottle of whiskey. He pours a little more than the reasonable amount in both glasses before sliding one across the island to Merlin.

“Cheers.” He says and downs his.

Merlin would smile if he could but he only nods and does the same.

* * *

The following day, Merlin found himself surrounded by the comfort food Morgana had bought for him, which took up half of the floor space in the kitchen.

“Oh, Merlin dear,” Morgana frowned, “this is just not going to do at all, is it?”

She’s looking down at all she’s bought with the utmost displeasure. 

“I’m just going to have Leon take these out to the bins, this isn’t good enough.” She sighed, rubbing at her brow. She gasps suddenly. “There are these lovely little chocolates with caramel to_ die_ for. I tasted them a few months back in Germany. I’ll go ring one of those peasants who work for Uther to fetch them, stay right here.”

So, Merlin thought he’d have rather avoided everyone except those who actually occupied Morgana’s flat… turns out he was dead wrong to have even thought that would be in any way a good idea. If he had to sit through Morgana actually being sickeningly sweet for a second longer he was going to vomit or jump off of a tall building or both. They are rather appealing thoughts at the moment.

It was just plain _weird_.

Merlin hurried to find a piece of paper and scribbled down a message.

_Needed some fresh air. –M._

He was relieved to find his coat hanging beside the door. Leon had said he’d brought some of his clothes over but Merlin would have to get the man an ice-cream cake or something equally as sweet for conveniently placing his coat at the nearest exit. He slipped it on and stepped outside.

To his surprise, the world outside didn’t look like he’d imagined. He expected the world to flaunt around dozens of happy couples his way, sticking the thorn in and twisting at his heart. Mocking him with a slap in the face in the forms of hand holding, lip-locking, sappy, gross, utterly unbearable love-struck people who had their other half walking alongside them, with them, and not pushing away from them.

The puffs of air coming from his lips and the shiver working its way down his spine make him feel so much better though. It’s cold and gloomy and starting to drizzle and he _loves_ it. He’ll probably catch a cold if the rain does pick up and he’s out for too long but he doesn’t have much a care for that. Right now the chill of the air is like lightning, shaking him to his core, and for once he feels numb both inside and out. It’s a relief.

He tugs his coat tighter around his too-skinny frame and walks the familiar curves of the pavement in front of him. His feet move almost instinctually and without thought until he’s standing outside Lancelot and Guinevere’s front door. He could probably manage to get to their doorstep blindfolded if he was ever made to.

Before Arthur had made a complete mess of him, Lancelot had mentioned he and Gwen barely got any sleep since having Tristan, so when Merlin knocks it’s only light raps against the door.

When he hears the door unlock and open he’s shocked to see Lancelot in such a state. He looked like he was falling asleep against the door but his eyes bulged open at the sight of Merlin.

“Good god, Merlin!” he shouts before pulling Merlin into a bone-crushing hug. The sound of a hysterical cry comes from the other room and Lancelot curses.

“Lancelot, I told you not to make a fuss! I just put him down!” Merlin hears Gwen say, far past agitated. 

“Come on, come in.” Lancelot shows Merlin inside. “You’re shivering, Merlin.” He says, half-out of it from exhaustion. “I’ll put on a pot.”

“I’ll,” Merlin catches Lancelot’s wrist, “I’ll put it on, you. You sit.”

His friend is about to protest but Merlin shakes his head and Lancelot merely nods, accepting the kindness before collapsing onto the armchair a few feet away.

Merlin drapes his coat to dry over one of the chairs in the kitchen and makes quick work of setting the kettle on. When he comes back he finds Lancelot passed out, as he'd expected. He walks towards the nursery and knocks softly before pushing the door open.

“Oh, Gwen.” Merlin says at the sight of her. She’s fallen asleep on the rocking chair with Tristan snuggled up against her chest. He’s not asleep though and by the looks of it he’s getting restless, just about ready to make another fit about it too.

He moves quickly and carefully takes the child from Gwen’s tired arms.

“Shh, it’s alright.” Merlin whispers, running his hand soothingly up and down Tristan’s back as he exits the room. “You’re quite a handful aren’t you? Working your mum and dad up like that. They need their sleep too, you know. We’re not all as young as we use to be.”

Merlin heads back into the kitchen and turns off the kettle. He didn’t need that to go off and wake everyone. Not when they needed their rest more than he did.

“You know,” Merlin presses his lips to Tristan’s forehead, “I had a dream once, like this. Well, not exactly like this. I dreamt that one day your dad and I would be taking you out to the parks. Your mum would be there and…” Merlin tried to keep his voice even, “and your uncle Arthur. We’re too old to play as you would, actually we’d probably break a hip or something.” He snickered softly. “But you wouldn’t have had to play alone because there was another someone there to play with you. Someone little and fun just like you are. You’re your mum and dads, but that other someone would be mine and Arthur’s. And we would be happy.”

Merlin wiped a tear away and looked down at Tristan fallen fast asleep in his arms. “We used to be happy.”

* * *

“How is he?”

Morgana practically hissed at the voice at the other end. “It’s none of your concern now, is it? You’ve thrown him out like garbage.”

“You know he deserves better,” Arthur said.

“You’re right.” Morgana snaps back, “He _does_. Tell me, Arthur, what did Uther say this time? I’m sure it’s something rich about your duties as a gentleman and some other bullshit he’s drilled into that weak-minded blond head of yours. It must have been a work of witchcraft for you to be so foolish and break up with Merlin.”

“And I should have him wait, shall I?!!” He snarled.

Morgana winced at that. Arthur sounded so much like their father when he was angry. It actually makes her feel sad for him. She forgets that she hadn’t grown up with Uther so she doesn’t know what it’s like to be under such an influence. She does know that Uther will wear someone down until he gets his way, be it one way or another.

She wipes away a tear, damning her feelings for her half-brother because as much as she hates him at times she hates it more when he’s unhappy.

“You’re wrong, Arthur. You don’t get to make choices for the person you love. You’re supposed to respect them and their right to choose on their own.”

“Two years, Morgana. Father’s stepped down.”

She’s stunned speechless by that, so it takes her a few moments to recover.

“What?! He… as in he’s retired?”

“Yes,” Arthur confirmed.

Morgana was certain such a thing would never happen. Uther would rather die than actually agree to that.

“And he did so willingly?” she can’t even wrap her mind around it.

“He insisted. I had to sign all the official documents to take over Pendragon Royalty and I’m going to have to stay put for two years until everything falls through. That’s the deal and I had to take it or they'll shut us down, the investors threatened pulling out. And not just this one office we finally managed to open in America, the companies back at home, everywhere, gone if I didn’t sign.” Arthur sighed. He sounded weary when he continued, “It’s our legacy, Gana. It’s our name, our family. What other choice was there?”

Morgana shuddered. This was just getting more complicated every second that passed. She wishes she could go back a few years and kill Uther in his sleep like she’d fantasized about. The company would have fallen into her hands then. She was the eldest child after all.

“You would have survived it,” she insisted. “You and Merlin, you always have! He would have gone to you if you couldn’t come to him, surely you must know that by now Arthur!”

“Take care of him, Morgana.” A pause, “Please.”

“I have to, don’t I?” she replied sadly. “You certainly won’t.”

She hung up on him after that.

* * *

Lancelot’s almost in waking but he has yet to open his eyes. He feels so comfortable and rested and… he jumps at the silence, shaken with the growing panic and dread.

“Guinevere?!” he calls out, rushing to the nursery. He finds his wife sleeping. Alone.

“Ah, look. Your daddy’s got his batteries back.”

Lancelot whirled around to find Tristan safe and sound in Merlin’s arms.

“Oh, thank god.” In a wave of relief, Lancelot sagged against the wall behind him.

“You see, I told you he wouldn’t look like a zombie if you let him get some shut-eye. You owe me a tenner.” Merlin directed at Tristan.

“Jesus Merlin, I was just about ready to-”

“A thank you would be nice, you know,” Merlin stated. “I was serious about that tenner though.”

Lancelot laughed. “What would we do without you, Merlin?”

“Best you don’t have to find out, yeah?” Merlin smiled.

Lancelot held out his arms and Merlin handed Tristan over. He put Tristan against his chest and patted his back gently.

“Were we out long?” Lancelot asked.

“Long enough. But I’m pretty good at waiting things out.”

At that Lance watched his friend’s face, reading it like a book.

“Arthur’s going to figure it out the hard way, don’t trouble yourself with him Merlin. He told you once that no man is worth your tears and he was right. He isn’t.”

Merlin nodded. “Yeah. Wish it was that simple.”

Lancelot winced at the sudden sensation, “Ugh.”

“What?”

“I think he’s just gone sick all over my shoulder.” Lancelot turned slightly. There was indeed a mess of spittle making its way down the back of his shirt.

Merlin wrinkled his nose, “Oh, yeah. He’s ruined that shirt for good.”

“Wonderful,” Lancelot muttered.


	3. Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: suicidal mentions & ideation

**Part 3**

A few days later Merlin made it over to Gaius’s. Gaius let Merlin in as he arrived and took his coat. He’d not shown up at the shop for a week and Gaius hadn’t pressed him to drop by either. They’d spoken on the phone but there were many awkward silences because neither of them really knew what to say.

“Prepared your favorite,” Gaius says.

Merlin sighed, “Not really that hungry.”

“Of course you’re not,” but Gaius gave Merlin a small, knowing smile.

When Merlin finished eating Gaius cleared the table and settled back down across from his nephew.

“How are you doing?”

Merlin shrugged, “Been in worse scrapes than this.”

“Merlin.” The eyebrow.

Another sigh. “I just don’t feel like talking about it. To anyone. They’re all walking around me waiting for me to break into pieces or something. I’m far past broken.”

“Oh, Merlin.” Gaius took to that idea with distaste. “That’s impossible. No one will ever truly manage to break you. You weren’t made that way. Not even Arthur has that sort of power. If anything it’s the other way around.”

“How can you be so sure though?” Merlin countered. “He seemed perfectly alright with it.”

“Have you ever seen a Pendragon be anything but convincing? Honestly, Merlin! You of all people should know that. Don’t you find it strange that Arthur changed his tune only some weeks before he was due back?”

Merlin blinked, “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying things may not always be as they seem. What were the first words you used to describe Arthur Pendragon?” Gaius questioned.

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Yes, how could anyone forget_ that_.”

“What did you say?” Gaius persisted.

Merlin groaned. “Fine! Okay, I’ll play along. I said Arthur Pendragon was an arrogant, self-centered bully who only does what his father tells him to because he’s a modern-day simpleton.” Merlin shut his eyes, the rest coming out in a whisper. “And because he’s stupidly loyal and he cares too much about what Uther thinks of him, he doesn’t see who he really is, just that he isn’t what Uther wants him to be.”

Gaius nodded, “Perhaps he needs to hear that from the only person who will tell him.”

“It’s different now, Gaius. I didn’t know him back then and I couldn’t help but have this need to tell him, _show_ him, what no one else would. I don’t know why. And then after that, something kept pulling me to him and him to me until everything just fit. It felt like…” Merlin’s laugh wasn’t entirely bitter but more a breath of resignation. “It felt like destiny, Gaius. But for the first time…” Merlin avoids looking at his uncle, not wanting Gaius to see the tears threatening to fall, “I don’t want to tell him, Gaius. I don’t want to tell him anything.”

* * *

At first it’s all too slow and too dark. Too much feeling yet far too empty. Merlin doesn’t know how to get up in the morning and see something worth living for. Most people hope for something at the least, but he’s doesn’t want a reason. He’s not suicidal, doesn’t have the energy or motivation for that. Plotting your death takes some amount of hope. Hope that after it’s done the pain will end. But Merlin has a feeling that even if there was a way out, nothing ever really ends. Life is cruel, why would the afterlife be any different? It also takes dedication to the cause and he doesn’t have the energy for that right now either.

Merlin’s been to his flat but he usually ends up on Gaius’s cot, which Gaius dug out from god knows where, Merlin didn’t ask. It’s not comfortable but he’s not comfortable anywhere so it doesn’t matter.

He’s on an unhealthy diet of cigarettes, tea, and (thanks to Gwaine) free alcohol. It’s working somewhat brilliantly but then he gets hangovers that Elena helps him through. He swears he’s never drinking again until Gwaine shoves another drink at him and his resolve gets shot to hell. 

Gaius can’t make him eat, eyebrow or not, so Lancelot usually steps in and sits Merlin down for dinner with the family. Merlin could never really refuse Gwen anything and if she says eat he eats. Lancelot knows that and exploits it shamelessly.

Slowly the dark horrible pain lifts and is replaced by anger. The thing about anger is it never really ends if you keep prolonging resolving it. It’s always there, picking at you until there’s an outburst, then it tucks itself back into its little anger box until it decides to present itself again.

Merlin feeds off of it. Likes it. It beats feeling like shit all the time and hurting because of the big gaping hole inside of him where his heart use to be.

So yes, it’s preferable to have this anger that keeps him going. Keeps him motivated. Hating Arthur is easier than loving him so he chases that hate. Takes it into his home, his being, gives it a cup of tea and finds it a better companion than anything else in the world.

A day comes where he’s tired. Too tired to hate anymore. His bones ache and his head feels heavy. He takes that day and pulls out that little anger box and opens it up. He sets all of that anger free. He wakes up the day after that and breathes. A weight feels lifted and he can slowly stand again on his own two feet.

He decides to go home and make it his. It’s not his and Arthur’s anymore, so it’s time to take Arthur out of it. Everyone is there to wrap up all of Arthur’s things and take away any piece of him that had still lingered there. Morgana takes her brother’s possessions gladly. She tells Merlin it’s about time he took back what’s his and throw out what doesn’t fit anymore.

The first few days back at _his_ flat are odd. Quiet. He’s alone.

Arthur’s things are gone and yet Merlin still feels him etched in every room, filling up every space and every corner.

In the mornings, in the midst of half-waking, he can feel solid arms wrapped around his body. Merlin can actually hear the prat snoring against his ear which should have been a habit one finds incredibly annoying but Merlin found quite sweet and adorable and now only serves as a silent haunting that only he can hear. Arthur’s absent presence simply takes residence as a ghost that lives and occupies the entire flat simply because Merlin’s so attuned to Arthur’s wordless sounds. The impenetrable pull Arthur’s presence had on Merlin’s own.

It goes on for months and months. Day to day, hour to hour, minute to minute until the only thing Merlin can hear are faint flickers of what isn’t there.

When Merlin finally accepts them and starts to listen instead of trying to ignore them the sounds get quieter. The presence is less insistent.

Little by little everything about Arthur slowly dulls and slips away. Merlin chases them and tries to keep them around, keep Arthur, but they are not made to be held, so on they go, and Merlin grieves that loss as well.

As with any loss it takes more than sheer willpower to move on and live through it. A day feels more like it spans into a year with the pain that conquers every single moment in the grips of heartache. Every hour feels deadly.

Living through it isn’t easy but with friends like his they feed him life when he feels unlively.

The life left in him grows, nourishes, and one day it is there to stay. He will never be alright but he _can_ be okay.

* * *

It’s going to reach a little over a year since Merlin's last heard Arthur’s voice or seen his face. That last phone call. It’s far away now and he’s moved forward. There are still reminders of course. Arthur’s left his mark and that won’t ever heal.

He’s back to tending to Gwaine’s shenanigans before they get too out of hand, as no one should have to deal with Gwaine and his ways alone, least of all Percival.

Taking Tristan off Guinevere and Lancelot’s hands every Friday, so they can go out and do coupley things like every married couple should be able to do. Usually they just pair up with Elena and Elyan to go out because apparently all married couples turn into bffs automatically.

He buys Leon ice-cream cake regularly and instead of Morgana threatening him she threatens Leon.

He’s working steadily at Gaius’s shop and that’s where he meets a fascinating girl named Freya. She’s all sorts of amazing and in one week it feels like he’s known her his entire life. If she were a bloke he’d marry the pants off of her. In fact, he thinks he’d marry her anyway. She’s just that brilliant.

His old mate Will makes a surprise visit one day and ends up staying for a bit over three weeks. Will overreacts to Freya’s relationship with Merlin. Arguing how he’s known Merlin the best and mouthing off some other load of rubbish. Will and Freya begrudgingly tolerate each other for Merlin's sake but Morgana manages to see past all that and with a bit of pushing and prodding she and Merlin manage to play matchmaker quite splendidly, or so they thought. They both sit back and wait for the inevitable but it doesn’t seem to go as planned. The day comes where Will is set to take off and just as he and Morgana had given up hope Merlin walks into the guest room to find Freya and Will snogging like idiots.

Merlin grins. “Finally! Some romance!”

“I’ll show you romance, Emrys!” Will throws something at him and he ducks out before he can be harmed. He phones Morgana and relays the news, she is immensely pleased. So is Merlin.

Two months on and Freya and Will’s long-distance relationship is going strong. Merlin is saddened when Freya tells him she’s going to move to Ealdor to be with Will but he’s also immensely happy for the two of them.

* * *

Upon arrival, Gwaine’s eyes traveled from one side of the room to the other. “I thought Morgana said she wanted a small get-together for her birthday.”

“This is small.” Merlin said. “For Morgana.”

“But there’s like…” Gwaine continued staring, “a million people here. We’re never gonna find the others if we’re going to have to go through _that_.”

“You underestimate me, my friend.” Merlin smirked, pulling out his mobile and texting Lancelot.

Gwaine glanced at him. “Are, um… are you worried?”

“Why would I be worried?” Merlin responded.

“Well, I mean its Morgana’s birthday.” He shrugged.

“S’never scared me before.” Merlin shrugged back, adding, “Much.”

Gwaine grinned. “No, no. I mean Morgana is a… she’s… okay, _fuck_. She’s a Pendragon.”

Merlin raised a brow, fingertips still typing out another text. “Really? Never knew that before.”

“No! I mean,” Gwaine looked properly frustrated. “What I mean is perhaps other Pendragons are here.”

Merlin didn’t answer, didn’t even look up from his mobile. “The others are out back.”

Gwaine didn’t have time to get another word in because Merlin’s already moving and all Gwaine can do is follow after him. He doesn’t bring it up again but he makes sure to keep an eye out, just in case.

* * *

“Merlin!” he heard Morgana call for him later in the evening. Even with a house full of people chattering and music louder than necessary her voice was clear as crystal.

Merlin turned around to find Morgana leaning into him, face inches away from his. Her smile is wicked and ecstatic, “You do remember Mordred, don’t you?”

She threw her arms around the man beside her, kissing his cheek. Merlin hadn’t exactly noticed anyone else given that Morgana had been up in his face after all but he’s definitely noticing now.

The man beside her had a very shy smile on his face. In fact it was barely there unless you looked hard enough. His eyes however were blue with mischief, his dark hair making them sparkle all the brighter. And yes. Yes, he does remember Mordred.

“Mordred.” Merlin is somewhat surprised at the sight. “Wow. You grew.”

Mordred seemed pleased with that comment because his shy smile grew wider. “As did you.”

“It’s been a while.” Merlin laughs, searching his brain for the last memory he had of Mordred. He finds he really can’t focus on that at the moment though. He keeps getting distracted. He’s confused with this odd_ thing_ building up inside of him. It’s like his skin is fizzling with some sort of unknown energy.

“Too long.” Mordred’s stare makes him blush.

Morgana all the while is watching them both intently. She finds herself beyond amused.

“It seems you both have some catching up to do.” She says.

Her tone grabs Merlin’s attention and he knows_ that_ expression all too well.

“It would seem so.” Mordred agreed.

At Mordred’s voice Merlin is distracted yet again. He finds himself forgetting Morgana completely. He doesn’t even notice her pardon herself and smoothly slip away.

* * *

“And where did you head off to last night?” Is the first thing Gwaine says when Merlin stumbles into The Round Table the morning after.

Merlin tries not to blush and fails.

“Nowhere.” He says lamely.

Elena grins at him but keeps quiet.

Gwaine’s on the other hand is grinning cheekily. “And was ‘nowhere’ on top or bottom?”

Percival slaps the back of Gwaine’s head.

“You don’t have to tell him anything Merlin,” assures Percy.

“Ahh!” Gwaine clutches at his skull. “You’re lucky I fancy you.” He tells Percival before walking away.

Merlin sighs heavily. He can feel Percy staring.

“Thanks for that,” he says.

Percival shrugs. “It’s not for him to know.”

“You don’t really have to say anything though.” Elena says quietly, her smile sweet.

Merlin narrows his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well,” Elena leans against the edge of the bar, “when you’ve shagged someone as a one-off there are only two expressions. The _shagged my brains out_ face and the _what was I thinking_ face.”

“And?”

Percy chuckles, “Your face is telling enough, Merlin.”

Elena grins, “And by the looks of it, it’s both.”

Merlin groans, readying himself for all sorts of embarrassments Gwaine will put him through until he gets every bloody detail.

* * *

“I dread to try and guess,” is what Guinevere says when she opens the door to find Merlin there looking so awfully distressed.

He’s had that expression once before and that time was, if memory serves right, filled with an angry rant that took up more than a full hour of Gwen’s time about a man who was the ‘_definition of dollophead_ .’

And then when Merlin got it all out of his system Gwen asked when was the wedding and Merlin collapsed into one of her chairs, damning his taste in men and how all Merlin wanted to do was bend Dollophead Man over and shag him silly.

“I did something horrible.” Merlin tells her.

She can’t help but smile brightly and pull him inside.

Once they are seated comfortably with Tristan sat lovingly on Gwen’s lap she clears her throat.

“Who, where, and rate him from one to ten.” She demands.

Merlin groaned, “You are not making me feel any better, Gwen.”

“Oh, Merlin!” she laughs, “It can’t be as bad as you make it out to be. You have a history of being overdramatic, just start from the beginning.”

“Fine, okay. So, Gwaine and I went ‘round to Morgana’s late, right? I was helping him close up The Round Table and since he’s a bad influence we had a pint and then another and before we knew it we’d looked up at the clocks and it was like ten minutes to midnight. So we lock up, rush out, Gwaine drives and let me tell you, it is just bloody unfair than even when plastered he drives better than a sober person would, which is just...” Merlin starts shaking his head as if gutted by such an injustice.

“Getting off topic.” Gwen murmured.

“What? Oh, right! So we get there. We find you, Lance and Percy out back. Drinks, laughs, drinks, putting out the fire Gwaine accidentally started, more drinks and so on.” Merlin pinched the bridge of his nose and feels the start of a headache working in.

Gwen stared and took to poking at Merlin’s ribs to get the rest out of him.

“Do you remember Morgana’s old friend from secondary school?”

Gwen gasped, “Morgause?!”

“What?” Merlin gaped, “No! Gwen, she’s not exactly my type being that she's a she. I wasn’t _that_ drunk. And I said friend, not half-sister. Her… other friend...” He mutters the last bit.

“I’m sorry?” Gwen leans forward. “Couldn’t make that last bit out which I’m sure you know.”

He glanced at his friend. Kind, lovely, concerned Guinevere.

“Mordred. I said Mordred.”

“Oh.”

“_Oh_?” Merlin comments, “Oh? That’s all you’re going to say? Rubbish lot of help you are, Gwen.”

She takes his hand and squeezes lightly. “Merlin, I know it’s not easy and it’s not what you wanted and you feel you’re not at all ready for it but perhaps that’s why it happened. What you want isn’t always what you need and no one is ever ready for any of it.”

“I feel wrong,” he confessed. “Dirty. Not that it was, and not that it wasn’t good or anything. It wasn’t…” And Merlin doesn’t have to add the rest of it. _It wasn’t him_ is plain to the ear.

“Oh, Merlin.” Gwen says knowingly and takes his hand in hers.

“You think I’d have gotten used to it by now.” He shrugs, refusing the thought of having a little cry.

“I know you’ve probably said it to yourself a million times but it has yet to stick so I’ll say it. You’ve done nothing wrong. You’ve betrayed no one. You have nothing to feel guilty about.”

“Why does it feel so… unsettling?”

“New is unsettling and it’s scary. But you’ll be fine, Merlin. I know you will,” she reassured, “Even if you don’t.”

* * *

Merlin is eating cereal while watching the news when his mobile goes off.

“Hello?” he answers, mouth full.

“Hello, Merlin.”

And he can hear the smile in Morgana’s voice.

“Morgana.” He acknowledges.

“How are you?” she all but purrs.

Merlin sighs and sets his bowl of cereal down on the table beside him. “Go on. Get to it then.”

She doesn’t waste any time and heads forward with her point. 

“I believe Mordred is rather smitten.” Morgana informs, “Would it be an accurate representation to say that you feel the same?”

“I don’t know Morgana. I mean yes, I like him, but with that night at your party, it just happened. I haven’t been with anyone like that in a very long time.”

“Well perhaps we ought to change that.” She suggests.

“I don’t even know if I want to be with anyone right now. I’m not sure I’m even ready to go down that road again.”

Morgana hums as if she’s sympathizing and not working up a scenario to enchant him to do as she wishes.

“Merlin, do you like Mordred?” she asks.

Merlin bites on his lip, unsure of what he should say. He finally decides on, “I guess so.”

“Is that an answer? Because it sounded more like a question.”

“Yeah. I mean yes. Yes, I like him.”

“And I know that Mordred likes you. It’s that simple.”

Merlin laughs, “It can’t be that simple.”

“Of course it can!” Morgana argues. “Not everyone is a test, Merlin. You don’t need to have the answers to everything. Meeting in the middle is more than enough.”

Morgana then proceeds to talk his ear off about making plans with Leon to go to Paris and how it would be so nice if he and Mordred _did _get together how they could all four of them roam the city of love until dawn and all other sorts of Morgana’s brainwashing techniques.

_She’s definitely a Pendragon_.

When they finally do say their goodbyes his cereal is mushy and the milk is warm.

Arthur hated drinking milk when it was warm. Merlin would always end up drinking it so it wouldn’t go to waste.

Merlin takes the bowl to the sink and throws the milk down the drain. He puts on something halfway decent and decides to just go ask Mordred out for a drink. Simple as that.

* * *

It’s different. Being with Mordred.

Merlin wakes up to blue eyes and a smile but no matter how long passes he always expects something different._ Someone_ different, his traitorous mind allows.

He opens his eyes expecting bright blue orbs, playful and kind and full of heart. Looking down at him in a constant state of admiration, stunned and fond and telling with just one look.

He expects a brilliant smile, all teeth, open and genuine and beautiful. He expects a smile that makes him go quite dumb when it’s directed at him because that smile is one reserved only for him.

Mordred’s eyes are soft but hold something strong and intense behind them. His smiles are private and it’s a privilege to see them when they’re real. His dark hair makes the contrast so much easier to deal with.

When he sees Mordred he sees _Mordred_.

Different.

Months pass and they’re happy. Merlin’s happy. He still waits for a day where his expectations change. He waits to start expecting different and not expecting_ someone_ different.

When Mordred asks him to move in Merlin smiles and says yes.

* * *

“Don’t you think it’s too soon to move in with him?” Gaius questioned, watching Merlin flow from room to room packing his things. “He’s in all senses a stranger to you.”

“Nonsense, Gaius.” Merlin laughed, “I’ve known him for years.”

“_Morgana _has known him.” Gaius corrected. “You only know _of _him and you shouldn’t move so quickly into this.”

Merlin grins but there’s no heart behind it. “I’m not moving too quickly. I’m just choosing to do what I want because that’s my right and it wasn’t taken from me this time.”

“Are you choosing what you truly want or simply choosing because you can? There is a very big difference between the two, Merlin.”

Gaius waits for a response but he doesn’t get one.

“Very well.” Gaius nods, resigning, “I’ve said my peace. I’ll see my own way out, you can continue packing.”

And Merlin does.

* * *

The day his mother Hunith passes away it takes its rightful place as the most painful thing ever to happen in his life.

She’s been ill for quite some time and it was always going to come to this. If she was ever able to stay conscious she barely said much. Her body was tired and she was too weak for even that.

Merlin finds it a cruel twist of fate what their last conversation was about. Their last _real_ conversation. It was made of full sentences and solid words. Not a hoarse voice of whispered gasps and breath that failed her from continuing more than a full sentence at most. There was always an apology she held in her eyes for the constant growing silence. As if it was in any way her fault.

In that last conversation, Arthur was there. All three of them conversing and laughing. Merlin had never seen his mum quite as fond of anyone he’d brought to her as she had been with Arthur. It was a really great day. But that wasn’t the _last_ conversation, that one was secret. Secret because Hunith asked Arthur to go fetch her some water. Once he was out of the room the _real_ conversation began.

_Two sides of the same coin_, she had said.

And that was the last full sentence she had given that stayed with him. The one just for him. Arthur was back in the hospital room soon enough and his mother had smiled knowingly. She hadn’t smiled so kindly for Mordred, it didn’t reach her eyes. Yes, it may have been the pain, but he knew what his mother wanted to say even if she didn’t have the energy to say it.

_Your place is at Arthur’s side. _

A few days later everyone gathered to give Hunith a proper goodbye. Mordred was Merlin’s only comfort. The only comfort he cared to accept anyway since Will wasn’t going to be able to make it for the funeral.

After the burial there was a small get together at The Round Table. It was closed to the general public, reserved for this purpose only. Percival cleaned it up rather nicely. It looked like less of a pub and more a very good imitation of a reception hall, much to Gwaine’s distaste.

Many condolences were given and Merlin hated all of them. Just as he managed to slip away a voice called out to him.

“Ah, and you must be young Emrys.”

Merlin turned around to find an older man staring at him thoughtfully. His eyes were a grey sort of color with perhaps a bit of gold in them. Merlin finds it an odd combination. 

“Do I know you?”

And the man’s eyes twinkled at that, looking at Merlin inquisitively. “You and I have been meant to cross paths for some time now. I’m here to pay respects to your mother for an old friend. Your father.”

Merlin blinked. “You knew my dad?”

“Oh, yes. Balinor and I had a history. You and I have been due to have one as well.”

Merlin shifted nervously under the man’s unyielding gaze.

“My name is Kilgharrah.” He presented.

“Well,” Merlin laughed, “That’s one hell of a name.”

And Merlin thinks he probably shouldn’t have said that out loud but Kilgharrah is unaffected.

“I could say the very same about you,” he replied instead.

There’s this tension that surrounds them both but there’s also a remarkable sense of ease in the way Kilgharrah speaks and looks upon him.

“You and the Pendragon boy, you have yet to dance around each other again have you?” Kilgharrah’s voice holds the ability to echo without having to speak aloud and his question hangs thick in the air.

Merlin frowned. “You know Arthur?”

“I know his father, unfortunately. Uther Pendragon. One can hardly ever be rid of him.” Kilgharrah’s use of Uther’s name comes out as if it was an old joke that’s been passed around for centuries. It’s obvious he has no care for it.

“You still haven’t answered me.” The older man looked on expectantly.

“Don’t really think that’s any of your business.”

“Whether it’s yours or mine has no value. There is only what is and what is to come. I’m sure you’ve heard it said before that you and Arthur are like two sides of the same coin.”

With that sentence, Kilgharrah has stripped away what was light and uncomplicated between them. Merlin feels something much heavier start to weigh down on him.

Kilgharrah continued, “Two halves cannot avoid that which makes them whole. A touch of destiny awaits and it doesn’t appreciate being avoided.”

However unsure Kilgharrah made him feel Merlin maintained a definite answer.

“You’re wrong,” he said. “There’s no such thing as destiny.”

And Kilgharrah laughed. Rapturous and making Merlin feel foolish.

“Destiny,” Kilgharrah continued once he contained himself, “the brother of Death. On cannot escape them no matter how one tries. Some destinies have been foretold, as the old song goes. We will meet again, Merlin. Of that, I can assure you.”

One more amused chuckle and Kilgharrah left Merlin frozen right where he stood. Stunned and speechless, properly dumbfounded.

It’s only when Merlin spots Gaius making his way towards him that he comes back to himself. Once at his side, Gaius looked Merlin up and down then turned to his attention in the direction Kilgharrah had slipped away to.

“What did he say to you?!” Gaius demanded.

Merlin’s brow furrowed, “You know him?”

Gaius sighed unpleasantly, “Who could forget him? Merlin, _what_ did he tell you?”

Merlin shook his head, “Gaius, I couldn’t explain it even if I tried. All sorts of nonsense for what I can tell.”

“Typical.” Gaius huffed.

“He said he knew my father. Is that true?”

“Yes, Merlin. He brought your mother and father together. It’s his gift.”

“His gift?” Merlin asked, intrigued.

Gaius nodded, “When your father met him, he said he was clairvoyant. He claimed he only meant to help. Fat lot of good intent did.”


	4. Part 4

**Part 4**

A month from Christmas day, Morgana opens her front door and manages a smile out of courtesy.

“Well, well, look what we have here.” She leans against the doorframe.

“Are you going to let me in or not?”

“Impatient are we, Arthur?” she says, but moves aside anyway. She helps to bring in his luggage and takes his coat once inside. He follows her into the kitchen where she pours them a warming glass of wine.

“When did you get in?” she asks.

“Just now, _obviously_,” he snarls back.

“Testy.” Morgana drinks and takes in the sight of him. Arthur looks older, tired. Completely worn. She reminds herself it’s of Uther’s doing and no one comes out of that unscathed. “Don’t take this the wrong way but I honestly didn’t think you’d come back,” she confessed.

Arthur managed to grimace but there was no feeling behind it. It’s something out of habit, she assumes. There is no edge there, no _Arthur_. It’s sad really.

“Because I have nothing to come back for?” he posed.

Morgana rolls her eyes. “Don’t be a diva.”

She waits for a reply, something scathing and more than a bit rude, but it doesn’t come. He’s just standing there, detached and out of place.

“Go wash up,” she finally utters, uncomfortable with Arthur’s too comfortable silence. “I’ll move your things into the upstairs guest room for you.”

Arthur nods and starts loosening his tie, walking out of the kitchen. As soon as he’s out of sight, Morgana phones Leon and tells him about Arthur’s arrival and the state he’s in. The entire encounter has thrown her and she’s gone from mocking Arthur to worrying over him. It takes Leon a while to talk her down a bit, telling her he’ll hurry back. By the time Leon does get home Morgana’s taken Arthur’s belongings upstairs and even tucked his clothes into the closet for him.

“Where is he?”

Morgana waves a distressing hand upstairs. “He’s taking a shower. I hope. Unless he’s chosen to drown himself or something.”

Leon tries to talk down her hysterics, reasoning that it can’t be that bad. Settling her takes an age and it slightly spooks him.

“You’re really worried about him aren’t you?”

Morgana nods. “The state of him. Everything’s so _wrong_. He’s Arthur,” she shakes her head, “but he’s_ not_!”

“Calm down, alright.” Leon paces, an action he forgets only serves to make Morgana even more anxious. He catches on eventually and moves over to her side, hands resting on her shoulders apologetically. “We’ll take him for a drink,” he suggests, “that’ll relax him a bit.”

Morgana nods, then winces. “The Round Table?”

Leon shrugs, “It’s the closest.”

“Yes, okay. Alright.” Morgana takes a deep breath and eyes Leon for a moment. “I don’t need any more drama for him. Not now, do you understand me?” The fact that she’s half threatening means she’s feeling better.

“Understand what?”

Morgana jumps at Arthur’s voice.

“Leon and his sweets, nothing to concern yourself over,” she covers smoothly.

“Arthur,” Leon smiles. “It’s good to see you. It’s been too long.”

Arthur allows a small nod in agreement.

“Get dressed, Pendragon. We’re going out.” Morgana declares.

“Gana,” Arthur sighs, “I just got in, can we stay put for the night?”

“No,” she replies, “and that’s the end of it, so go on and ready yourself.”

Arthur stares blankly and says nothing, nodding in resignation. He turns and goes back up the stairs to do as bid.

“Wow.” Leon stares in disbelief. “He didn’t even argue.”

Morgana glares at him, “It’s rather disheartening, isn’t it?”

* * *

“Did you ring Lancelot?” Percival asks while he wipes up the spilt tequila at the far end of the table. Leon had phoned ahead to let him know of the company he and Morgana would arrive with.

Elena clears some glasses. “Yes, sir. He said that Merlin is spending the night in.”

“We can only hope so. God knows what’ll happen if Mer-” Percival stills, sentence cutting off.

Gwaine and Elena follow his stare towards the front door of the pub.

“Jesus,” Gwaine mutters at the sight of Arthur.

“He looks…” Elena starts. 

“Hello gentlemen, Elena.” Morgana greets as she, Arthur and Leon near. “Your finest bottle of red.”

Arthur interjects, resting his palms on the bar side. “I’m going to need something stronger.”

Gwaine felt Percival’s eyes on him and so he grins. “Man after my own heart,” he says, moving as efficiently as he ever has. “Will a double shot of whiskey do you?”

Arthur manages a decent enough smile, suddenly bashful. “Please.”

“Why don’t you all sit down?” Percy insists, leading them over to the nearest table. “Just finished cleaning this one.”

“Thank you, Percival.” Morgana slips into the booth gracefully, tugging Leon along beside her.

Percival laid a firm hand upon Arthur’s shoulder, saying earnestly, “It’s good to see you again, mate.”

Arthur seems frightfully surprised for it, “And you.” He slid into the seat opposite of Morgana and Leon.

A few moments of silence pass before Morgana had enough of it. “Leon, would you be a dear and give me a moment with my brother?”

Leon slips out without a fuss, leaving Arthur alone with his half-sister.

“Arthur,” she says sweetly.

“Hmm.”

At his disinterest, she then snaps testily, “Would you look at me when I talk to you?”

Arthur sighs before doing as asked. Morgana was burning with a calm fury, he could see that, but there was something else. Something sad, perhaps a trace of fear even.

“What’s happened to you?” She demands. “And don’t give me those dull, lifeless glares you’re a poor imitation of Uther.”

Arthur did smile at that.

“See, a smile. That’s not so hard is it?” Morgana raises a brow, pleased. “Now would you snap out of it already? I’m buying and it’s not even your birthday.”

Arthur fakes contemplation, leaning into the table as if to share a secret. “What say you to drink me under the table first, then we’ll draft terms.”

Her answering grin was sickeningly sweet and downright terrifying. “Oh, you are on Pendragon. I do warn you though, you are way out of your league.”

* * *

When Arthur awoke he found two pills and a glass of water by his bedside. Bless her heart, he’d have to buy Morgana a country or sacrifice someone’s soul, or something of equal value surely.

It took an age for his hangover to ebb away enough for him to stand vertically let alone seek the outside of Morgana’s guest room but when he did he found his half-sister head down against the island surface while Leon placed a cup of coffee next to her.

“Morning,” Leon mouths to Arthur.

Arthur nods the same and slips in to sit beside Morgana. Leon offers him a cup as well which he took gratefully.

“I will blame you for all of eternity for this, Arthur Pendragon,” Morgana mumbles, peering up at him miserably from the island’s smooth surface. She lifts her head inch by inch until she can take a sip from her own cup of coffee, face twisting up like a child with a toothache. “Just so we’re clear.”

When Leon slides two plates of eggs and sausage in front of the pair of them, both gagged. Morgana flung herself away with a speed she shouldn’t have been able to have and fled for the nearest toilet. They could hear her clearly as she emptied more of the alcohol binge from last night.

Arthur frowned and pushed his plate away from him. Hangovers were indeed no fun at all.

“Sorry mate,” Arthur apologizes. “Coffee is all I can stomach right now.”

Leon shrugs and takes Arthur’s plate with a smile, “More for me.”

Morgana gave out a shrill cry for Leon. The man gave a longing look at the full plate of warm food and curses before heading off to aid Morgana.

Arthur chuckles and finishes his coffee.

Later, much later, when their hangovers are done and forgotten with, he and Morgana sit around the fireplace side by side, sharing a bottle of wine as if they hadn’t sworn off all alcohol that morning. Leon fucked off for the evening, skittish when declaring his reasoning’s and Arthur knows for a fact his disappearance is all Morgana’s doing. It’s quite like her, wanting alone time to lay something horrible on him.

“You haven’t asked about Merlin,” she finally says. “I know you want to. You’re_ trying_ not to.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he dismisses airily and waits a moment, takes his time in sipping some more wine, determined to not sound over-eager. “But since you brought it up,” Arthur gestures for her to continue.

Morgana snickers evilly. “Oh, Arthur,” she tucks her head into his shoulder. When she spoke again it wasn’t teasing or mocking, it was sincere and a bit sad. “Time has passed.”

“He’s with someone, isn’t he?” Arthur asks. A feeling, one he can’t reach out and claim because it’s not his right anymore, settles over him.

Morgana doesn’t answer. That in itself was a definite confirmation.

Arthur sighs, “Who is he?”

“Do you remember Mordred?”

A scowl sets on his features. “Oh god no, Morgana. Did it have to be a friend of yours? Seriously!”

“Oh, so Mordred’s only my friend now, is he?”

Arthur reaches for the half-empty bottle and pours himself more wine.

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you one bit,” says Morgana. “I’d hate to think what you would have ended up as if Merlin hadn’t put you in your place all those years ago.”

“Is he happy?” Arthur asks quietly, holding his breath in waiting for the answer. Not knowing what he wants the answer to be more.

“He’s moving on,” Morgana says steadily. “I highly suggest that you _let_ him. It would be the decent thing to do after all.”

“I’m not going to stand in the way of him being happy, Morgana.” Arthur sighs, “And just when the hell did you become an expert in decency? It’s such a fraudulent concept to the universe. Is this how you run business now? For shame.”

“You utter bastard!” Morgana’s laughter rang in his ears, both siblings dissolving into a fit of giggles beside one another. “Amazingly, even with years of your pitiful death threats,” Morgana states with a generous sip of wine, “which, honestly, you need to up your game. It’s pathetic.” Arthur lets out a noise of shock and Morgana turns her face, eyes meeting his. She then says somberly, seriously. “You do know that I wouldn’t hesitate to bring down the heavens if anything were to harm you.”

It’s a statement. An honest one. They both fight inwardly with the urge to scatter in the face of it, neither one particularly knowing how to deal with genuine words and affections laid up front; not in this family.

Arthur speaks eventually, his tone naturally blasé and unaffected – he can’t help it. The affection in his eyes betrays his flippant remark however and when he finally looks at her, Morgana is smiling.

“If I didn’t know any better, which I do, I’d say you were trying to make me think you cared. Well played.”

“Trouble is,” she went on, sweeping whatever nonsensical affection that just happened under the rug, “that particular affection of mine has come to extend to Merlin as well as Mordred. Do you see the conflict here, dear brother?”

“He’s loved. As he should be,” Arthur states. “And, as you say, he’s happy. I won’t ruin it for him. What I want doesn’t matter anymore.”

Morgana pets Arthur’s blond head and her arms encircle him in what he can only picture is the human embodiment of what a fierce lioness-like grip looks like. Morgana’s brand of comforting isn’t exactly what one would consider a form of comfort. One must constantly redefine comfort when it comes to her. It’s more of an unsounded feral growl she lets out into the world with the lift of a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, the silent echo of damnation when her heels hit the floor to anyone that dares to harm those she dubs worthy of her affections.

Just then, Arthur remembers the first time Morgana stood up for him. He was fuming with anger at her after the altercation. As a boy, he hadn’t wanted Morgana to fight his battles for him, as an adult however he cringed upon anyone who dares ignite her wrath.

That side of her, Arthur knew, was the softer side of Morgana. It’s the way she shows her love and it’s just plain scary any way you look at it. Still, he loves his horrible witch of a sister and if anyone tried to hurt her they would be dead in seconds.

The license to kill gene must run in the family. 

“Does he hate me?” Arthur mumbles, not truly comfortable speaking of it aloud, but there it is.

Morgana chuckles. “Merlin could never truly hate anyone. There’s not a hateful bone in that boy’s body. And he could never hate you. That was the entire problem in the first place, or do you forget so easily?”

Arthur laughs at that. She’s right. The first time he met Merlin_ he_ was the one about ready to kill the other man. “Do you think he’d even want to see me again?”

Morgana thought in silence. “All these questions, Arthur. I don’t know everything, you know.”

“Well that’s a first,” he scoffed.

Morgana pinched him.

“_Oww_!”

“Suck it up, Pendragon. There’s only one way to find out all of your questions and it’s not by asking me. I will warn you though,” Morgana points a well-manicured finger at him (they’d leave lovely claw marks). “Do tread carefully. As you said, it’s not about what you want anymore.”

* * *

Merlin nearly trips over himself heading down the stairs on his way to get to the insistent banging at Mordred’s, or rather _their_, front door.

“Alright, alright!” He shouts as he reaches the doorway and yanks it open, ready to have a proper row for the altogether rudeness of his limbs and the visitor.

He is greeted with Morgana’s sickly enchanting smile. “Hello, Merlin dear. Is Mordred home?” she asks.

“No,” Merlin frowns. “He got that PA job.”

Morgana only stares, her smile never wavering.

“You remember. You were here for the celebration party.” Merlin points out.

“Indeed I was. Invite me in then? This weather is going to be the death of me.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.” Merlin steps aside.

The room shapes and melds with Morgana’s presence, as always.

“You’ve been living with Mordred for a while now,” Morgana began. “I am here to ask you something. Do you happen to have any other personal items in your currently unoccupied flat?”

Merlin shook his head, “Not really, no.”

“I see.” Morgana’s heels clicked against the tile as she wanders. A tactic she uses to distract and ease someone with her lithe motions. “Correct me if I am wrong but technically it, the flat I mean, was under your name _and_ Arthur’s.”

“Mhmm,” Merlin confirms with a nod.

“Well, Merlin. I’m not going to keep spinning spells around you, you don’t deserve that, so I’ll get to it. There’s no easy way to say this,” Morgana says, looking guilty. “Arthur’s back and I don’t believe it would be wise to keep him under my roof for longer than I have to so I was hoping you would agree to perhaps letting him move back in. For now, at least. If you wish it I’ll make him find a new place as soon as possi-”

“No,” Merlin cut in, his brain short-circuiting at the information being given to him.

Morgana raised a brow.

“I mean not _no_. I mean,” Merlin struggles to explain. “I meant no, as in he doesn’t need to find a new place. It’s fine. The flat is under his name as well, like you said, and I’m not there, so….” Merlin spins around. “I’ll fetch you the keys.”

He’s off and out of her sight before she could get anything else out of him. In truth, Morgana really hates this. Having to break it to Merlin this way but it would have been unkind to simply let Merlin unknowingly run into Arthur one day without a forewarning.

“Here you are,” Merlin reappears, holding the keys out to her.

“Thank you, Merlin.” Morgana says sincerely, tucking the keys into her purse. “For what it’s worth…”

“Don’t,” Merlin says quickly. “You don’t have to apologize. I’m fine. It was a long time ago. I’m good. Promise.”

For all that he’s gone through, Morgana doubts him, relenting when she realizes it’s not really her place. She nods and lets herself be seen out.

* * *

Lancelot stops over at The Round Table the following evening as soon as he got out of work. Personally, Lancelot wasn’t one to pry but with the news of Arthur being back in the picture it made a delicate situation prone to flounder, especially when it came to Merlin himself. Lancelot knows his friend, as do they all. Merlin may have moved on but he’s never really been good at letting things go.

Gwaine, heedless to any reservations or tact, informs him over a pint all that had occurred within Arthur’s return.

“Shit,” Lancelot frets.

“Shite indeed,” Gwaine affirms. “Arthur’s had the life plucked out of him from the looks of it. It only confirms what Morgana’s been going on about, of the whole mess being Uther’s doing.”

“I don’t know if this makes me feel better or worse,” Lance admitted. “Did he let on to why he was back? He was supposed to be gone longer, wasn’t he?”

Gwaine shrugs, offering no further answers. “How do we do this then?” the barman questions.

“They’re both our mates,” Percival offers, sidling up to Gwaine and peering at Lancelot. “It’s going to be hard but Arthur and Merlin have been there when we needed them so we’ll do the same for them, the both of them.”

“Ever the voice of reason,” Gwaine smiles fondly at his better half and winks.

* * *

Gwen was surprised to find Arthur Pendragon standing her front door with a dozen red roses in hand.

“Arthur!” Her genuine shock made his smile waver.

“Sorry to drop in uninvited,” he began. “I should have called.”

“No, nonsense! Don’t speak of it, come on in.”

He held out the flowers for her to take after she’d closed the door.

“What’s the occasion?” Gwen smiles, taking them from him happily.

Arthur shrugs. “I figured the best mum in the world deserves gifts, doesn’t she?”

Gwen giggles joyously. “You are too kind. Let me put these in water.”

Arthur watches as Guinevere does just that. It makes him pointlessly happy just to be in her presence again. Once finished, Gwen drags him towards the settee, however not before throwing on Lance’s hideous old jumper from college. This is a jumper that should have been burned millenniums ago. Regardless, they fall into their long-familiar and comfortable chatter. Gwen introduces him to her son Tristan when he wakes. Time is consumed wherein Arthur simply gapes and dotes on the child, with Tristan possibly becoming the best thing ever in the small time Arthur gets to hold him. Arthur asks on how she and Lance have been getting on with parenthood and Gwen asks if America had treated him kindly. His answer is curt and Gwen’s brow furrows. Sensing his discomfort, she lets that one go.

The topic vehemently being avoided however is going to come up, because Guinevere is kind and loving and astute, but she is also brave and not one to hold her tongue. She gets this look about her so Arthur braces himself.

Gwen picks at Lancelot’s jumper before asking, “Have you been to see Merlin?”

Arthur makes a face. “Guinevere, I promise you, Merlin would rather kill a unicorn than have to see me again.”

Gwen places a comforting hand on Arthur’s arm. “Then you would be making a false promise.”

Arthur smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Gwen doesn’t like that look on him and perhaps, without meaning to, instigates that he should get back in contact with Merlin. Her encouragement stays with him all the way back to Morgana’s.

Arthur has keys thrown in his face the moment he walks through the door and a glaring Morgana for a greeting.

“What the hell did you do that for?!” he shouts, bending down to pick up the keys. His annoyance disappears immediately for recognition of them.

“I’ve done you the favor of calling some of Uther’s minions to take your things to the flat. They’re literally just sitting in a room waiting for your commands,” Morgana reports, amused to the bone. “It would be so satisfying to step on them like ants.”

Arthur doesn’t mention how much she sounds like their father. She blinks away her amusement and settles her attention back on Arthur.

“Are you going to stand there all day eye-fucking those keys?” she blurts.

Arthur scowls and shoves the keys into his back pocket.

“You know, I never took you for a sentimentalist,” she comments.

“Believe me,” he admits, “I’m just as surprised as you are.”


	5. Part 5

**Part 5**

“Are you nervous?” Mordred asks, watching as Merlin pulls at his tie for the millionth time that evening.

“What? Why? No.” Merlin stares, wide-eyed.

It had been two soundless weeks since Morgana had stopped by asking for the keys to his old flat. He hadn’t run into Arthur at all since then and he’s not sure if it’s a good thing or a bad thing. He doesn’t ask about Arthur when he’s with his mates though he does want to, and they don’t bring him up but Merlin knows without having to be told that they have been in contact with him.

The reason he and Mordred were readying now was that Leon had phoned, there was a special gathering to be held at The Round Table because he was going to propose to Morgana tonight. Fancy dress and all.

Merlin was skeptical of the whole special gathering idea since The Round Table was a pub providing a public service. In all sense, a restaurant would probably have served better for the occasion but the pub does hold them all close and profound with meaning, so perhaps Leon is spot on. Merlin shrugs it off, pros and cons not something he should be bothering himself with. Besides Percy can work wonders once he’s convinced Gwaine to let him, or rather, carries on as he likes and ignores Gwaine and his protests.

“It’s going to be fine,” Mordred assures him.

Merlin only smiled and nodded. There’s no doubt in his mind that Gaius was invited tonight and would be attending. That in itself was all the reassurance Merlin truly needed.

He and Mordred were among the first who arrived at The Round Table. Gwen had been taking up Morgana’s time early in the day so that Leon could mentally prepare for the occasion, whatever that meant.

Lancelot was the first to come and greet them. He placed a firm, comforting hand on Merlin’s shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. Because Lance is Lance and he knows Merlin better than most. He asked Mordred if he would go help Elyan and Elena see to Gwaine, to keep him from sulking around Percival, to which Mordred happily accepted. Once Mordred fell out of sight Lancelot studied Merlin quietly.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost and he hasn’t even walked in yet,” says Lance.

Merlin rolls his eyes, “Very funny.”

Lancelot smiles sadly. “It really isn’t, Merlin.”

“Tristan?” Merlin asks, changing the subject.

“With Gwen’s dad,” Lance says. “I’m not bringing my son into a pub this early in his life. Wouldn’t want him to turn into Gwaine, would I?”

Merlin laughs. “Poor Percy.”

“The man should be knighted for having the bravery to take on such a spectacle.”

Merlin could feel Lancelot staring but he refused to give in and look.

“He’s not all sunshine and happiness.”

Merlin shrugs, spine gone tense with apprehension. Or was it anticipation? “I didn’t say anything.”

“I know,” Lance says. “I’m just telling you.”

Merlin tugs on his tie anxiously until he just can’t stand it anymore, untying it before he suffocates and throwing it over his shoulder. “How is he then?”

Lancelot shook his head. “He’s not himself, Merlin. He’s… not himself.”

They joined the others not long after. Lancelot and Mordred kept Gwaine settled by making sure his glass was never empty, which Merlin thinks is a spectacularly bad idea but he’ll keep himself to himself for now. Percival busied himself joining tables and draping them in fancy tablecloth.

Meanwhile, Merlin tried not to be so bloody obvious every time someone walked into the pub. He was failing utterly, with beads of sweat appearing upon his brow, having to be wiped off periodically.

Pretty much everyone who had been invited had shown up. Even Morgause, who had flown in from India as a surprise, arrived before Arthur had. When Gaius showed himself, Merlin was just about having a full-blown anxiety attack. One glance at his nephew and Gaius directed him away, sat him down, telling Merlin to start at the beginning. The frown on Gaius’s face grew deeper and brow higher the more Merlin went on.

“Merlin, my dear boy, it is nothing to be worried over,” Gaius advises him. “Unless…”

Merlin straightened in his seat, eyes straining and alert. “Unless what?”

“Unless you aren’t as past this as you thought you were,” Gaius says gravely.

Merlin stares at his uncle. “No, Gaius,” Merlin felt his lips spread in a grin, tight and unfamiliar on his face. “I’m far past it. I’ve moved on. I’m with Mordred now.”

Gaius looked over to where Mordred stood talking to Morgause. He hadn’t exactly been silent of his distrust towards this new man in Merlin’s life.

“Are you?” Gaius’s eyes rest back on his nephew.

“Yes,” says Merlin stubbornly, his jaw tight.

The older man gave a sigh, shrugging his shoulders, “As long as you’re certain, Merlin.”

“I am,” Merlin says. “I’d better go check if Percival needs any help with anything.” He stood, pausing to say, “Thank you, Gaius,” because he knows his uncle only has his own best interests at heart, disagreements on it or not.

Gaius smiles. “Go on then. That man needs all the help he can get.”

Thankfully, Elena asked him to help serve the drinks. It certainly helped keep him busy.

In fact, he hardly notices Morgana and Gwen finally arriving, and with them, Arthur.

Morgana shrieks with delight when she catches sight of Morgause, throwing her arms around the other woman. “Oh my god, when did you get back?!”

“Sister, I have missed you,” Morgause hugs her back dearly. “I’ve come back for a few days upon your Leon’s request.”

Morgana pulls back and seeks out her boyfriend, passing face after face in the crowd that surrounds her. “Leon asked you to come?”

“I did,” Leon answers, emerging finally. Morgana turns towards him and then, very carefully, takes notice to everyone’s secretive smiles.

Leon took her hand in his and went down on bended knee before she could comment on it.

“Morgana Le Fay,” he says, “would you do me the greatest honor in becoming my wife?”

Morgana looked to Morgause firstly, the blonde woman smiled serenely.

Morgana beams down at Leon. “Oh, dear god yes!” she exclaims, tugging him upwards. “Yes, I fucking will!”

The room full of friends and family began clapping and cheering as Leon slid a very impressive looking ring onto Morgana’s shaking finger. Leon then wrapped his arms around her, pressing a gentle kiss to her brow.

In all the years of debates on how and why Morgana and Leon got together, Merlin thinks that this best explains it. They are so different. Leon is a simple man. He works hard and he doesn’t make a fuss, the world would most definitely fall apart if it weren’t for good old reliable Leon. Morgana, on the other hand, is a fierce presence all on her own. There was a deep wickedness in her, all nature, yet at heart, she was poisonously sweet. Right now, before all of their friends and loved ones, she’s simply a woman being held by the one man she has let hold her and who has been valiant enough to never let her go.

As much as he tried, Merlin couldn’t keep his eyes off of Arthur for long and as fate would have it Arthur caught his eye every damnable time. He stayed away though. The entire night went without incident. Nothing to show for it more than far too many lingering glances that neither could shy away from.

When Arthur slipped out the back door Merlin couldn’t stop himself from going after him.

He found him leaning against the building in the dark lighting a fag.

“Thought you'd quit,” Merlin intones quietly, letting the door fall shut behind him.

Arthur looks up. Merlin could make out a soft smile working its way onto his face, even in the darkness.

“The jig is up,” says Arthur. “You caught me.”

Merlin shuffles closer a few steps.

Arthur looks thinner up close, worn down somehow. He doesn’t have his normal air of confidence. It’s strange.

“Does Morgana know?” Merlin asks.

“Do you see any claw marks on me yet?” Arthur answers.

Merlin smirks. “I’ll feign surprise when I read about it in the papers.”

“Promise to sue if it’s The Daily Mail.”

“Nah,” Merlin says, “whatever they post will probably be accurate. Not even they can over-exaggerate what a massive prat you are.”

Arthur laughs. Merlin's favorite laugh, too. The one that is composed entirely from Arthur's heart, like if it’s being squeezed out from inside of him. Surprised and delighted at the same time.

"How long have you been back?" As if he didn't already know.

"Not long,” Arthur exhales ringlets of smoke. “Why? Miss me?"

He sounded hopeful yet entirely uncertain of the answer he would receive. As if there was any other answer than the obvious.

_Yes. Yes. Yes, times infinity._

"Nope.” Merlin shook his head, helpless to the bright smile that pastes itself across his face. “Not in the slightest."

Arthur watches him knowingly, a gleam in his eye. "You always were a pathetic liar, Merlin."

"Obviously,” says Merlin, “I mean it's not like I could just be astoundingly good at _sounding_ a pathetic liar knowing all too well you'll always fall for it."

“Rubbish,” Arthur mutters, holding out his pack of smokes in offering.

“Nah, I’m good.” 

Arthur nods and tucks them away into his coat pocket. “Thanks for the keys to the flat by the way.”

“You don’t need to thank me, but you’re welcome. Did you move in alright?”

“I did. Morgana has never been happier. Well, until now that is.”

“I’m actually surprised she didn’t catch on. She can usually sniff Leon out when he’s plotting away at something.”

“That’s actually true,” Arthur agrees. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

With the way Arthur is looking at him, Merlin realizes how close he’s actually gotten. It wouldn’t take more than three steps…

“How’s Hunith been?” Arthur inquires. “I’d like to go see her if you’d permit that is.”

Suddenly a coldness takes a grip of Merlin’s heart and squeezes unbearably. Merlin blinks away the watery proof behind his heartache and states, “She’s relocated.” At Arthur’s quirk of brow, Merlin elaborates. “She passed this autumn.”

The night falls silent.

“I’m so sorry, Merlin,” says Arthur softly. Then, “I’d like to drop in anyway. Pay my respects.”

Merlin nods, warmed by the idea of Arthur wanting to see his mother either way. “Morgana was at the funeral. She knows where she’s buried.”

Arthur hadn’t lifted his head again, as if he’s deep in contemplation and Merlin feels himself start to back away, back himself nearer towards the door. “I better get back inside and have a mop read,” he says. “We’ve been keeping Gwaine’s glass full so he’s due to be sick on the floor any moment now.”

“Good luck with that.” Arthur offers, somewhat horrified. As anyone should be. “It’s really good to see you, Merlin,”

“Yeah,” Merlin whispers, his voice cracking. “Wish I could say the same,” he adds dryly.

Arthur threw his head back and laughed and Merlin felt his heart tighten and fill with a flutter of warmth, the sound of it pounding loudly in his ears.

“See you around, Arthur.”

He turns quickly and slips back inside the pub.

* * *

Merlin didn’t see Arthur again until that weekend. Leon had tried to get through to Uther before the gathering at The Round Table but was only put through to secretary of a secretary of a secretary.

Apparently Uther had flow back from America seething after he got the news a few days after the proposal. Word is he’d fired two head executives and various secretaries on the spot for such incompetence.

With Uther back, they had all been summoned for a second gathering but this time at_ the_ Pendragon estate. Merlin practically dropped his phone when he answered it only to have the voice on the other end be none other than Uther Pendragon himself demanding his presence at dinner to celebrate Morgana’s engagement.

He could have passed. Thought about it. Really, really wanted to. Then he thought about Morgana, whom the dinner was actually for. Who probably hated spending time in the Pendragon mansion and in Uther’s presence more than any of the rest of them.

Arthur would surely be there. Arthur, who was still easy company, even now, after everything.

* * *

There was nothing to do but stare up at the looming mansion when he and Mordred arrived. Both had been there before, albeit with different company, and both knew it all too well.

“Bleak,” says Merlin.

“And damning,” adds Mordred.

They shared a laugh before deciding it’s now or never.

Morgana is, at first glance, positively livid at having to be at the mansion again and from the looks of it she might actually claw Uther’s eyes out before the night is done. Gwen is by her side, no doubt the one preventing such a thing from happening.

Bleak and damning indeed. Merlin hopes there is a lot of wine served because the tension is going to suffocate them all before they even get to taste the appetizers.

Arthur it would seem is the only one smart enough to have a glass in hand already.

As usual, everything served at the luxurious white sculpted dining table is worth more than ten of Merlin’s lifetimes combined. The finest, most expensive wine has been flown in from god knows where. The food looks like chicken but is called something Merlin couldn’t even attempt to pronounce right. And, of course, it all looks better than it tastes. Although Gwaine is stuffing his face like he’s never had a proper meal in his entire life.

By the time dessert is being served Uther stands to make a toast.

“I am pleased you all have made time to join me tonight in this feast for Morgana and Leon.”

The man remains perpetually unbothered by Morgana’s unceasing death glares. Honestly, the way Uther favors Morgana but denies her of her place in his legacy is highly disturbing at times.

“May you both have a wonderful life together,” Uther intones, “your marriage be unspoiled by the ages, and may you have children by the dozen.”

Merlin watches with amusement as Leon sputters at his wine. Morgana has to pat him in the back until he calms.

“Here, here!” Gwaine shouts. Percival takes his wine away in an attempt to settle him down some. (It won’t.)

The night starts to descend upon them. Gwen and Lance are the first to leave since they’d promised Gwen’s father they would be back early. Merlin takes that as a more than fair opportunity for him and Mordred to be heading off as well.

Merlin catches Uther’s eyeing him as he pulls on his coat. Just his luck. Uther makes a beeline straight for him and Merlin braces himself.

“Before you go I did wish to say I am sorry to hear about your mother’s passing. She was a,” Uther’s brow furrows. Merlin realizes he’s thinking of something polite to say about her. What an arse. “She was an honorable woman,” Uther announces finally.

Merlin nods once. “Thank you, sir.”

“Yes.” Uther looks over at Mordred who is gathering his own coat. “Very well then.” With that he briskly turns and disappears from Merlin’s side. He catches sight of Arthur watching him and gives him a wave. Arthur nods his head in return. Merlin smiles.

“Ready?” Mordred asks.

“Yeah.”

* * *

Arthur is the last to leave his father’s home but before he can walk out of the front door George, his father’s PA, stops him.

“Your father asks for you, my lord.” The young man says.

“George,” Arthur sighs and shrugs back out of his coat. “How many times have I told you to stop calling me that?” George is about to answer and Arthur immediately raises a hand to stop him. May the gods have mercy on the poor boy because he probably knows exactly how many times Arthur has asked this, as he takes his job far too seriously. “Never mind. _Don’t_. Forget I even asked.”

He tosses his coat at the boy and walks up the stairs towards his father’s study. He would regret having drunk a tad too much wine throughout the evening but what else was he to do? He hadn’t been afforded a real glimpse of Merlin and Mordred together as a couple until a few hours ago and being in his father’s house after what happened in America is hardly his idea of an easy evening.

It’s a brain maze to navigate for sure but Arthur thinks that more than serves as enough reason to have alcohol aid him throughout the night.

Outside the double doors of his father’s study, Arthur takes a second to collect himself and afford himself a steadying breath before knocking twice.

“Come in,” Uther’s calls.

Arthur opens the doors and walks inside. “You wanted to see me, father?”

“Yes. Shut the door, will you?” Uther is staring out the large windows looking out into the front of the estate and he doesn’t turn in acknowledgment of Arthur’s presence. “I got a call from Annis. She tells me the company is thriving, that there’s no possible way anything could stop us from succeeding in our continued ventures to other outside countries.”

Though it relieves Arthur to hear, he doesn’t express so outwardly. “That’s satisfactory news indeed.”

“The head position is still unfilled,” Uther informs. “Since you’ve done away with Agravaine no one of familial ties is in place to steer the company.”

“He was stealing from you, father,” Arthur reminds him.

Uther turns on him, eyes pure steel. “Allegations, nothing more. But you fired him and he’s suing, do you know that? And he knows, damn you. He knows all about our less than savory dealings with outside investors.”

_And why is that, father, _Arthur could say, _you did that, you made those choices, no one else is to blame!_

Arthur presses his lips together just in case it does decide to come tumbling out.

Unblinking, Uther says, “Annis is a fool if she thinks this won’t come back to haunt us. I thought I taught you sense over your own inclinations.”

Arthur was pained by the words and perhaps somewhat guilty of acting before reasoning, but none of the wrongdoing he felt over his own actions eclipsed the betrayal of how his father had thrown him so carelessly aside for it.

“Say something!” Uther snaps.

“I believe America served us both well, father,” Arthur states evenly. “You’ve lost your faith in me, and I in you. Have a good night.”

Arthur ends up at The Round Table after that. He sits upfront at the bar and runs over everything that’s happened in his head until a familiar voice breaks his concentration.

“Goodness gorgeous,” Gwaine says, his smile wide and lecherous. “What’ll it be Princess?”

Arthur doesn’t even have the heart to tell Gwaine to stop calling him that or question how the man is suddenly half-sober considering he drank more than any of them at his father’s house that evening. Rather, he needs to keep focus on himself before he gets himself properly disowned.

“Where’s Elena?” Arthur asks.

“She’s off today, remember?” Gwaine chews at the toothpick he’s stuck in his mouth. “You’re stuck with my heavenly companionship for the night.”

Arthur snorts. “Right. Fine. Scotch.”

Gwaine makes quick work of his drink and slides it across the bar side. He’s looking at Arthur funnily and Arthur tries to ignore it until Gwaine clears his throat.

“So what’s new?” Gwaine’s voice is silky smooth, eyes twinkling.

Arthur shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“Right,” Gwaine’s smile should be forbidden. It’s all too knowing. Too in his face. “Nothing,” Gwaine repeats, waits, and when Arthur doesn’t say anything he gestures around the pub. “Who am I going to tell, Arthur?”

“Percival. Lance. Gwen. Morgana. To name a few of many,” he sighs, trailing off. He sips at his scotch to avoid saying more.

“Or even, say, Merlin?” Gwaine says.

Arthur glares.

“The last few years have been rough for you boys. We all had to pull Merlin together. We were all more than a little cross with you for it, too.” Gwaine spits out his toothpick and starts to pour himself a drink. He looks like he’s having a silent debate with himself until he finally decides away with the glass and to drink straight from the bottle.

“When you love someone,” he continues, “in love with them, I mean, that person gains the power to hurt you the most, more than anyone ever has. What you’re essentially doing is saying to them: here’s my heart, please snuggle it and don’t fucking drop it in the toilets like it’s a piece of shit.”

Arthur smiles around his glass of scotch. Gwaine and his way with words.

“Sometimes we do so without meaning to,” Gwaine went on, “sometimes we lose grip and can’t catch things before they fall and bruise and break. We all saw what it did to Merlin. He gave you his heart and you hurt him. Thing is, you gave him yours as well. The difference is he didn’t drop yours, you snatched it back and slammed your foot on your own heart in hopes to save his. It wasn’t right but your intention was to do right by him. I know that. We all did, after a while. It was just hard at first to remember that because we saw Merlin’s heartbreak firsthand. We kind of forgot about yours.”

Arthur frowns. “I know I did wrong. Hurting him like that. I don’t think I’ll ever hate myself for anything more. I basically promised Morgana I would let him be.” He doesn’t know why he’s telling Gwaine this, of all people, but the words come out and he doesn’t have the heart to stop them. “That I’d let him be happy with someone else. It’s probably best.”

Gwaine takes the glass from Arthur’s hand, seemingly unhappy with that comment. He tosses the remains back with one big gulp and sets the tumbler down.

Arthur shakes his head. “You are without a doubt the worst barman ever.”

“Ain’t I just?” Gwaine agrees. “Anyway, I’m signing up for the hangman’s noose by saying this, but fuck it. Merlin’s had blokes before but there’s never been one worthy enough until suddenly there was.” Gwaine looks Arthur dead in the eye, “And Mordred, my sweet Princess, Mordred isn’t him.”

* * *

His father may have relieved him from the duty of running the company but that in no way meant that he was off the hook. Arthur still found himself working the same 13 hours a day he had been before, up and out of the door by 4:30 with the sun barely shining in order to get there before 5:00, exhausted by the time his hours were up and he’s to take his leave. Even then, he’s not always granted the luxury to leave on time and has to end up staying an hour or more to make sure everything is as it should be. He’s lucky if he makes it home before midnight.

One evening, a week before Christmas, Arthur arrives at his flat at a surprisingly decent hour to find Gwen, Lancelot, Percival and Gwaine waiting outside. Arthur acknowledges the four of them and leads them inside his flat. He offers them some tea which they gladly accept, all but Gwaine who, as always, asks for something stronger.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, it’s lovely to see you all but… is there any particular reason you’re all here?” Arthur asks, apprehensive of the answer he’ll be given, as if something is niggling at him that he can’t reach yet.

“Listen, Arthur,” Percival starts off, “we sort of tried to keep our heads out of Merlin’s business since, well, you know.”

“We,” and it was Lancelot’s go. “We wanted to wait.” He said. “To… to see.”

They all kept looking to each other as if they were all having a silent argument while Arthur watched on. They must have steadied their nerve because suddenly they’re all looking back at him.

Gwen nods at her husband and he’s prompted to continue. “It’s like Percy said, we tried to stay out of Merlin’s business but-”

“Mordred’s a villainous little beast,” Gwaine finishes.

Lancelot’s lips quirk. “I was not going to put it that way.”

“No, Gaius put it that way,” Gwaine says. "But he's a part of the story, not a whole. That's the point."

“Wait,” Arthur interrupts. “Are you all seriously here trying to instigate interference in Merlin’s relationship? Do any of you realize how completely manipulative that is? I should know, I’m a Pendragon.”

He could see his friends struggle with doubt in the face of his statement, all but Gwaine, who pushed on steadily. 

“Listen, alright. Seems I’m not entirely alone in my thoughts about Mordred being the wrong fit,” he says.

Percival nods, encouraged by this. “Most of us can’t be as vocal about it, hence Leon not being here.”

“Morgana would have him by the bollocks if she found out,” Gwaine grins. “Which would be a shame too, he’s got a great pair. Snuck a peek in the toilets once.”

“The point is,” Gwen spoke up with a glare spared for Gwaine straying from the reason they came over, “Merlin’s says he’s moved on but we all know that’s not true. Anyone with eyes can see that.”

“Everyone but Merlin,” Lancelot adds solemnly. “He’s dead set on having moved on, said it plenty, but he’s not done so. Not properly anyway. There would be nothing noble in sitting by and doing nothing while we watch Merlin set himself up to be miserable and full of regret when he need not be. Not anymore.”

“Mordred was supposed to be a way to move on. For Merlin to get over you.” Gwen says. “He wasn’t supposed to…”

“Stick around,” Gwaine supplies. “Merlin may be able to make himself believe he wants a life with that man, and in his mad little world he’s stubborn enough to do so, but we all know Merlin in love. That’s not the case here.”

“Are you all hearing yourselves?” says Arthur desperately, finally. “You’re talking about him like he’s not a person, like his choices are yours to make.” And every one of them quiets after that.

“Listen,” Arthur says, “I know this has been hard, and I admit, I myself have entertained notions of this variety, but that doesn’t give me the right, or any of you, to call into question choices Merlin has made for himself. You may not like Mordred, you may think it won’t last – that’s fine, you’re allowed your opinion. You aren’t allowed to go around his back, meddling with his life.”

“Even if he’s not in love?” Gwaine questions, the last bit of him vying for something Arthur recognizes in himself even it’s misplaced, something they’re all guilty of wanting to prevent; saving Merlin from a mistake.

“Even then,” says Arthur, brokering no arguments otherwise. “It doesn’t always have to be love, Gwaine. I know you mean well, all of you, but we don’t get to make those calls. We should respect Merlin and his right to choose.” A look passes through Gwen’s eye and Arthur hurriedly adds, “And I should know, I speak from experience.”

Lancelot’s features have fallen and Arthur knows, of anyone, he’s reached him.

“By coming here tonight I thought this, us, we would be making things go back as they were, righting a wrong,” Lance admits aloud. “I’d not thought through properly what this course of action meant. Arthur’s got the right of it. We all love Merlin and so we owe him our support, no matter what we may think. It’s not our place.”

“Things change, we as people change. But it won’t be this difficult forever,” Arthur tells his friends, trying to offer them some semblance of comfort he never once offered himself. “And it’s not about righting a wrong either,” Arthur stresses. “It’s different, that’s all. Different isn’t always wrong, it’s just different. This will all get easier, I promise.”

By the looks on their faces you’d think they were children and he was the one with all of the answers.

Things have changed. It was easy not to accept it until now. In his time spent in America, he hadn’t the time to dwell on the fact that he had broken up with Merlin. Every moment spent awake was about work and Arthur had thrown himself into the game. He was a Pendragon, he was practically bred for this. He could shut everything out like a machine switched in him, shut it down so he didn’t have to sit with it and process the actual fall out. Being back, faced with Merlin and his new relationship with Mordred, now it’s real.

Arthur breathes out, thinking for the first time in this whole ordeal, that perhaps it’s time they all grew the hell up about it. Himself included.


	6. Part 6

**Part 6 **

Merlin woke to soft kisses.

He opens his eyes to see Mordred’s face, familiar and unfamiliar all the same, offering smiles and sweetness for free. Merlin does not take them for granted, but he still shies away from Mordred’s affections. He chalks it up to being awoken so randomly.

“What time did you get home?” Merlin asks, noting that Mordred was still in the clothes he’d left for work in the day before. He hadn’t even bothered to remove his tie yet.

“Just now actually,” Mordred answers.

“What time is it?”

“Four.”

Merlin cringes, “Bloody hell. What are they, slave traders?”

“Somewhat it would seem,” Mordred smirks and shifts, in a tractable mood for such an hour. His body now fully rests on the bed beside Merlin. “I was hoping perhaps, if you’d fancy it, letting me take you out for breakfast.”

The mere notion at this hour makes Merlin want to die. “You know I’d love that,” he replies, hoping he doesn’t sound as averse to the idea as he feels.

“Dunno,” Mordred shrugs. “Figured I’d ask instead of assuming. What about you? What was yesterday like?”

Merlin shook his head, more in an effort to stay awake than anything else. “Nothing much. Work, mates, sleep. Here, let me,” he reaches out and tugs on Mordred’s tie, working it off and tossing it out of sight with no care to where it lands.

“That cost a pretty penny,” Mordred mentions, lightly placing a kiss on Merlin’s lips.

“Don’t care,” Merlin says, and he really doesn’t.

“I know.” Mordred nods, “I know.”

After more harmless teasing at such a vulnerable hour, Merlin nearly calls Mordred a cabbage head, but his voice cuts off before it can be uttered, turning away immediatley. Because Mordred’s not. He’s not a cabbage head. There’s only one of them walking around in this universe and there will never be another.

"What's wrong?" Mordred asks, noticing the shift in mood. 

"Nothing." Merlin hops out of the bed quickly and locks himself in the toilet.

By the time he comes back out, he finds Mordred has drifted off to sleep in his work clothes. 

* * *

Merlin ends up at a random car park nearby work sometime midday, his head in his hands while he natters on to himself ceaselessly. In all likelihood, he’s probably going to get stabbed if he keeps mucking about making faces at thin air but he can’t make himself snap out of it. It’s senseless, of course. The urge to call Mordred by Arthur’s nickname wasn’t intentional and it's nothing to work himself into a fit over, but it sort of is. It’s a line. It most certainly is. It has to be.

“You look troubled.”

He recognizes that voice almost instantly and he doesn’t even have to look to know who it is.

“Listen, just go away,” he sneers. “I’m not in the mood for your madness.”

Kilgharrah ignores what he says and sits down beside him. “What are your thoughts about destiny, Emrys?”

“Seriously?” Merlin says. “Are you just taking the piss or are you actually as out of touch with reality as you seem?”

Kilgharrah chuckles. “I’m going to give you some advice, Merlin. Destiny is much like love. It can be a terrible burden as much as a blessed gift and there is nothing we can do to change that. Sometimes, no matter how solid a foundation, there are cracks that divide. Every push and pull, a terrible struggle. It’s not meant to be fair, not meant for sense or logic. Loss breaks pieces away, leave a gaping hole so you’ll take notice.” The man glances over, “How else do you think one comes to know what’s worth living for? Dying for?” Kilgharrah rises. “You’d do good to remember that.”

“But how will I know if it’s real?” Merlin asks, desperate for a directive. Even from a madman. “What if it’s just… wanting?”

Kilgharrah smiles and his eyes gleam, magnetic with mischief. “If you want something and you can have it, then taking your fill is plenty. If you need something, then wanting is too little, and it is never enough.”

“How did you know my father?” the question is more of a demand and Kilgharrah regards him for a moment, the silence under such scrutiny is off-putting.

“What do you know of your father?” Kilgharrah asks.

Merlin shrugs. “I know his name. I know my mother loved him very much. I know he loved her, but he still left.”

“It sounds like you know the heart of him,” Kilgharrah sat back down beside Merlin. “No need to worry yourself over trivial things once you know that. You should concern yourself more with your own life, your own choices.”

“And what would you know of that?” Merlin asks, not rudely, just curious. “Gaius says you _claim_ to know things, so go on. Have at it.”

Kilgharrah smiles, “I know destiny isn’t keen on waiting, nor is it terribly concerned with right or wrong or the wants of those concerned. It happens, young Emrys, whether you’re ready or not, and happen it will.”

_That’s just bloody life, you gargoyle! _Merlin thinks but doesn’t say.

If these are the type his father used to surround himself with, Merlin couldn’t be less impressed.

* * *

Two days before Christmas eve, Arthur, Percy, and Gwaine sit in Morgana and Leon’s lounge staring up at a Christmas tree that took far longer to set up than a Christmas tree should. Gwaine has thrown himself onto the box it arrived in, lounging over it like a makeshift chair, while Arthur and Percival sit on the armchairs separate from the sofa that Leon and Morgana are occupying.

“So what did you get me this year, dear brother?” Morgana asks Arthur conversationally.

“I got you both a sex swing,” Gwaine chimes in.

“You are swine!” Arthur shouts, equally felt from dramatic effect and disgust. “Please tell me he didn’t,” Arthur directs this to Percy, who merely turns pink under the scrutiny.

Morgana is cackling, half in Leon’s lap and glowing from the booze they’ve had copious amounts of during this whole ‘put up a Christmas tree friend edition’ business. Leon grabs a more secure hold of her waist to keep her from tumbling over the sofa and Morgana starts to snort helplessly. Arthur’s mouth begins to hurt from how wide he’s smiling.

“I want to do something wonderful this year!” Morgana exclaims sullenly, once she’s settled down. “It’s so dull staying put. Take me somewhere!” She turns her request into the crook of Leon’s neck.

“A sex swing and an overpriced tree not doing it for you?” Arthur quips.

“It’s not a bad idea actually,” Leon says. “When’s the last time we all went on holiday?”

“Was it before Gwen and Lance got engaged?” Percy supplies, brow furrowed in thought.

“Nah,” Gwaine says, “We all went to Amsterdam for the honeymoon. They brought us with, remember? Made it a group thing. Those lovebirds are just the best, aren’t they?”

“That was nearly ten years ago!” gripes Morgana. “We should all do something. We’re not getting any younger!”

“Why not?” Leon says. “Now’s better than never. What do you think Arthur?”

“Timing’s way off. It’s going to be hell getting reservations anywhere,” Arthur says, matter of fact. He remains unconvinced of this being a sound idea and not just a drunken flight of fancy. “And what’s wrong with staying here? We all have homes, we’re all near each other. Who needs destination when you have the people you love close to you?”

Morgana throws some spare tinsel at him and Gwaine blows raspberries.

That’s how Arthur finds himself at the airport the following day at 5:02 in the morning, on what could possibly be the busiest holiday known to man, flying to god knows where (Morgana won’t tell them, _it’s a surprise!_) with the Pendragon private plane at the ready, surrounded by his mates, Merlin and Mordred included.

Merlin sidles up to Arthur as they’re boarding, “Morgana let it slip where we’re actually going?”

“Not to me,” Arthur tells him.

“She could completely just maroon us on an island and we’d be none the wiser,” Merlin says.

“Oh, I wouldn’t doubt it in the slightest,” Arthur says, grinning toothily. “I’m… I’m glad you’re here, Merlin.”

And it’s heavy, as they come out, those choice words. Too heavy for the lightness they’ve managed to produce with each other up to this point, since Arthur’s been back. It’s longing and love and proclamation, everything that they’ve avoided touching; the past that hovers, the heartache.

Merlin smiles and it’s sad at first. Bashful the next. Arthur can make out the warmth spreading around his neck, working its way to sitting high on his cheekbones. A sight makes his mouth go dry.

“Don’t be daft,” Merlin says, altogether dismissive of it. He bumps his shoulder against Arthur’s before moving off back to Mordred’s side. More likely in an attempt to make the altercation less… just less.

It’s a pointless feat, Arthur thinks, because every single part of him that he swears he hasn’t felt in a year has suddenly come alive, and all it took was a bump in the shoulder.

He boards the plane.

* * *

Vermont.

They land in Stowe, Vermont where a limousine is waiting to receive them, champagne at the ready. They drive past the city with their eyes glued to the window, taking in the view and commenting on the buildings and the Christmas decorations up on the streets. There are ski places and restaurants that catch the eye, touristy areas that are definitely going to be explored once they’ve settled in. The car winds through snowy driveway after snowy driveway and turns into a lodging location, modest cabins start to appear. They head upward in a slope, eventually leading up to the massive mansion of a cabin that Morgana informs them they will stay in for the duration of their trip.

“Morgana!” Gwen gasps at the sight of it. It’s a beast of a fortress up close.

“Now that’s what you call a cabin,” Gwaine comments appraisingly.

“It’s three stories. Seven bedrooms, bathrooms in the rooms themselves, a massive kitchen,” Morgana counts off, “technically two lounges, one bigger downstairs, obviously, and with a pool table. Laundry room, etcetera, etcetera. No smoking.”

“How the hell did you even pull this off?” Arthur interrupts, gaping at his half-sister. It’s literally a day before Christmas, accommodations like this shouldn’t even be possible in such short notice.

“Please,” Morgana tosses her hair behind her back in a flourish, “I’m me.” She exits the car, Leon following on after.

They each procured their respected luggage from the boot and followed Morgana inside. The room they met was massive. It was all open area containing the lounge with a fireplace and a television, a dining table in the middle, and at the opposite end of the room, the kitchen area. Their friends gushed with the lavish space and sought out the place that called to them, investigating with giant smiles and eyes widening with excitement.

“How did you find this place, Morgana?” Lancelot asks, he and Gwen looking out one of the large windows.

“You remember one of my friends Nimueh, back in college?” Morgana answers. “Her family owns a few places and when I reached out to her she recommended this cabin.”

“That’s so kind,” Gwen says.

“Jesus, Morgana,” Arthur gripes. “Are you certain we’re not about to be murdered in our sleep, voodoo dolls under the bed and the like.”

Morgana rolls her eyes, “You know, you are just threatened by women who are assertive and as sure as themselves as you are, Arthur. It’s pathetic. This was undeniably sweet of her and you should be thankful.”

While that may or may not be possible, more likely it was just that Morgana’s old school friend had always given Arthur the creeps, but Arthur wasn’t about to let Morgana know that, so she could just about think what she liked. He wandered into the kitchen area and pulled open the refrigerator. It was fully stocked.

Someone whistled and Arthur turned to see Merlin looking in from behind him.

“All expenses paid, eh?” Merlin says.

Arthur shrugs, “Apparently.”

“I’m picking out a room,” Gwaine says from somewhere in the room and Arthur barely chances to make him out as the man runs for it, shooting up the stairs two at a time. Percy shakes his head fondly and drops their luggage, following after his boyfriend.

“You okay?” Merlin asks.

The question catches Arthur off guard and he clears his throat, shutting the fridge. “Yeah, yeah. Probably tired from traveling.”

“You do tend to get melancholy after a flight,” Merlin says, the smile on his face speaks of years of remembered quirks. “You need a warm cup of tea and a nap to sort you out.”

“And you can’t come down,” Arthur says, “you’ll be up all night making the run of the place until your batteries die out. Does Mordred know that yet?” he wonders.

Merlin swallows. “Haven’t done much traveling with Mordred yet.”

“Yet,” Arthur agrees. “We should pick a room, lest we get stuck with the shitty ones.”

“Or at least before Gwaine thinks it in him to fuck in all of the beds and we have to wash the sheets beforehand,” Merlin cracks.

“That’s,” Arthur cringes, “unfailingly accurate. Let’s go.”

The other two stories are filled with the bedrooms, like a boarding school almost, if not for the luxuriousness of them. Four bedrooms in the second story, three in the third. Gwen and Lancelot procure the one closest to the stairs in the second story, followed by Leon and Morgana rooming beside them, Mordred taking a particular liking to a room on that floor himself, so Merlin and Arthur part there.

Arthur finds himself a room in the third story, which, as Morgana said, has a smaller lounge tucked in the corner of the space. His room is opposite to Gwaine and Percy. He’s sure he’ll regret it somewhat but there’s no way he’s rooming on the floor Merlin and his boyfriend are occupying. It just wouldn’t be comfortable.

Once they’re all settled in (Tristian napping in his parent’s room) they gather back downstairs, deciding they’re more hungry from the journey rather than sleepy and so Leon’s appoints himself head chef. He starts pulling things out of the fridge and chopping things up like some kind of magician before putting them to sizzle on the stove. Percy eventually lends a hand, Morgana pouring something red from a bottle and handing out flukes.

The couches in the lounge are amazing and humongous, it should be illegal the comfort they’re all being afforded in this cabin. Gwen curls herself up on the cushions and ultimately starts dozing, Lance situated behind her. Arthur figures there’s a fireplace for a reason and busies himself with the task.

“I should take her back upstairs,” Lancelot says about his wife. “Let her rest in an actual bed.”

“Give her a minute,” Merlin says softly, “she’s hungry, too. And you’ve both been parents for near on a full year, no one’s judging you. Let her get a few moments and then we can eat and pass out properly.”

“Fuck that,” Gwaine utters, “let’s all get pissed!”

“Settle down, you,” Morgana says, “there’s time enough for that.”

“I am going to hold you to that,” Gwaine says, downing his glass of wine with one fluid motion. “This is candy. I need real alcohol.”

“You’re insufferable,” Morgana sips her own glass, smirking.

“Did you two ever fuck?” Mordred’s voice filters in unexpectedly.

Arthur turns around from the fire to stare upon such a question. Merlin and Lancelot are both looking at their laps, not wanting to get involved. Gwaine is grinning lecherously and Morgana downs her glass, tight-lipped for probably the first time in several years. Leon and Percy continue cooking, not bothered whatsoever by the turn of conversation or just far away enough not to have heard it.

“Why do you ask that, Mordred?” Morgana asks.

“Sorry, I just,” Mordred smiles reservedly and Merlin grabs his hand. “I got some vibes. Sorry. It just came out. It’s none of my business anyway.”

Gwaine tosses his hair from his eyes and leans back into the cushions of the couch, eyeing Morgana as if looking for a sign. She meets his eye and Gwaine clears his throat. “Not that I’m not interested, Mordred,” he says. “There’s literally no one else in the female population that I’d rather fuck, but I like cock.”

“Thank heaven for that,” Morgana blurts, rising and going to fill another glass.

Gwaine chuckles, “See Morgana and I have an unrequited, requited thing. It suits us just fine.”

Mordred smirks, “Interesting.”

Merlin looks at his boyfriend strangely but doesn’t comment. Then he looks up, catching Arthur mid-stare, fire poker gripped loosely in his hands.

It seems to sink in simultaneously, for the both of them, that this is going to mark their first Christmas on their own, not together. The actuality smarts, like a gaping wound that’s been ripped anew, fresh and utterly blinding. Arthur’s eyes well with unshed tears and his jaw works silently, blinking away the devastation of sudden reality crashing down on him. When he turns his back, hiding himself away towards the fireplace, Merlin feels the wetness leak down his own cheeks.

“Merlin?” Mordred says, alarmed. “Sweetheart, are you alright?”

“Goodness, no. I mean, yes. _Yes_.” Merlin utters, pushing a smile onto his face and himself up to his feet. “I need a moment, I swear I’m fine, just… a moment.” He kisses Mordred on the mouth quickly and flees, upstairs, up to their room, or simply anywhere that points him _away_. Away from the eyes of his friends and the tears shining back at him from Arthur’s own eyes, from the stark realizations that should have been realized by both of them long ago, yet here they are. But it wouldn’t occur to Arthur, would it? Because he’s a sodding clotpole, he doesn’t think things through until he’s facing them, and Merlin? Well, it must be catching because he’s just as floored by the obvious as Arthur is.

“Merlin?” It’s Lancelot.

“Yeah,” Merlin wipes away the tears hastily.

“You alright?” Lance asks.

“I’m fine, it’s just,” Merlin sighs. There's no point in lying, of course, there’s no point in being entirely truthful either. He settles on neutral ground. “A lot of firsts this Christmas is all. First without mum, for example.”

Lancelot is instantly sympathetic. “Of course, Merlin. It must be hard without your mother this time of year.”

There’s a pang at that acknowledgment and Merlin nods, not trusting himself to speak on it.

“C’mere,” Lancelot opens his arms and Merlin accepts the hug, thankful for the support and the comfort offered so freely to him.

He has amazing friends, truly. Friends he can count on and tell anything to, without a smidge of judgment. That doesn’t mean he can’t keep certain things to himself. And Arthur, whatever this is, this last bit of loss or closure, even, _that_ it’s between them and no one else. He only wishes it didn’t feel so horribly dodgy.

Footsteps are heard approaching from the stairway. It’s Arthur. He passes them by swiftly without a glance. “Your wife is asking for you, Lance,” he relays, “and the food is ready.”

“You’re not eating?” Lance asks, perplexed.

“Lost my appetite,” Arthur says, disappearing into the third floor of the cabin.

“We better head down there before Gwaine eats the whole bloody thing,” Lance jests.

“I’m going to use the bathroom first,” Merlin tells him, “I want to wash my face before heading back.”

Lancelot accepts it easily and pats him on the back, smiling, before heading downstairs.

Merlin moves towards the room he and Mordred had chosen, looking over his back as he reaches the door. There’s a tug, a pull, that wants to lead him further upstairs, right to where he knows Arthur will be.

_Two halves cannot avoid that which makes them whole,_ Kilgharrah’s words when they first met echo in his mind, ensnaring him with a frantic bout of indecision; it skirts the line between want and need, almost like an enchantment. _A touch of destiny awaits and it doesn’t appreciate being avoided._

Merlin swallows, eyeing the stairs that lead upwards with trepidation. With a divine desperation.


	7. Part 7

**Part 7 **

Merlin washed his face and dried his hands, exiting the bathroom to find Mordred there waiting for him. His smile at Mordred’s appearance isn’t forced and he attributes the feeling of melancholy sitting deep in his gut with being tired. He tells Mordred this and says maybe it’s best he just goes to bed.

“Tomorrow will be another day,” he says, “I’ll be right as rain.”

Mordred gives him a slight smirk and nods over to the bed. Merlin appreciates the solidarity. They disrobe and get under the covers, turning the lights out and settling in. There’s a bit of tossing and turning on Merlin’s part but eventually they still and Merlin shuts his eyes. He doesn’t sleep but he keeps them shut, he wishes for peace to come but it doesn’t. He must fall towards some form of unconsciousness however because when he wakes the clock on the bedside reads that some hours have gone by. Merlin peaks behind his shoulder and finds Mordred in a deep sleep, a boyish smile on his face that never quite transfers to when he’s awake.

Merlin slowly disentangles himself from the bedsheets and sits up. He redresses and seeks outside of their room. The other doors are all shut, his friends probably resting as deep as Mordred is. Merlin descends the stairs and finds a light gleaming from the kitchen. When he catches sight of Arthur’s formidable shoulders, hunched up and brooding, he exhales with a sense of ease.

“Up early,” Merlin says softly as he nears.

Arthur straightens and turns at his voice. “Up at _adult_ hours, Merlin.”

Merlin grins, “It’s half-past five. The sun’s not even up.” Arthur’s brewing some tea already, thank fuck.

“Oh, it’s up. These are responsible adult hours,” Arthur maintains, “but you’d know nothing of that, would you? Mister _wake me before seven and I'll throw boiling tea water in your face_”

Merlin scoffs at the impression, slipping in beside Arthur. “I do not sound like that.”

“Oh, you do,” Arthur levels a glance at him, brow raised.

“Prat,” Merlin huffs.

Arthur smiles. “What on earth are you doing up, anyhow?”

Merlin shrugs. “I don’t feel like I’ve earned it. I feel like I hardly got any sleep at all.”

The kettle goes off and Arthur reaches over into the cupboards to retrieve two mugs. He pours Merlin’s and hands it over, “Sugar’s over there.”

Merlin prepares his tea and restrains himself from gulping it down greedily, it’s scalding in his palms. Arthur seems to notice this too because his lips curl and his eyes crinkle.

“Should I ask what kept you from sleeping well?” Arthur asks, drinking from his cup easily and without batting a lash.

Merlin rolls his eyes at the inhumanity of Arthur’s pain threshold for all but two seconds before shrugging. “Do what you want.”

Arthur hums in reply, taking another sip.

“I’m surprised Morgana invited us,” Merlin blurts.

“Why wouldn’t she?” Arthur says. “You’re her favorite, you know.”

Merlin quirks a grin, “Please. She loves you best, you just don’t see it because you’re, well, you.”

“You know, now I’m positive you didn’t get your proper amount of shut eye. You’re flooding the air with delusions.”

Merlin laughs and it isn’t a surprise, it’s more an eventuality.

He misses that. A lot.

“Were you alright last night?” Merlin asks, that too is an eventuality. Caring how Arthur is.

Arthur is silent for a time before answering, “I’m perfectly alright, Merlin.” Arthur raises his cup slightly, giving a tilt of his head, “Enjoy your tea.”

“Thanks,” Merlin barely manages to say, watching Arthur head back upstairs, his body seemingly tethered to following after him yet unable to move an inch.

With a sip of his tea, Merlin realizes it’s Christmas Eve.

* * *

“Should we order a Christmas tree to set up here?” Morgana asks. It’s closer to midday now and everyone is awake, still in their sleepwear, lounging on the couches downstairs.

“We’re surrounded by trees, Gana.” Arthur points out. “And snow. And anything else Christmasy you could want right out those doors”

“But Tristan!” Morgana pouts, gesturing to the child gurgling nonsense in Gwen’s arms.

“He won’t remember a tree being here,” Arthur points out. “He’s not even one.”

“It’s true,” Lancelot agrees sheepishly.

Leon’s facial expression, hidden from Morgana’s viewpoint, agrees with this objectively. Merlin and Mordred remain quiet, watching this all go down without getting involved.

“I’d like a tree.” Gwen adds then, wrinkling up her nose with faux guilt.

“Thank you, Gwen.” Morgana nods appreciatively.

“Would you really like to make someone hate you by making them bring a tree to you _a day_ before Christmas?” Arthur reasons. “They probably have a family they’d like to spend today with rather than our lot.”

“If I do, it’s their job!” Morgana half-shouts in justification.

“Do you really want to be that person?” Arthur argues. “Really?”

“Can we just get back to the point and pick a place to go eat?” Gwaine interrupts, getting back to the topic that was brought up in the first place. Percival’s face is grim, agreeing with his other half without a word having to be said.

“Oh, right,” Morgana winces, guilty but not _too_ guilty.

* * *

Hunger, indecisiveness, and a quick internet search led them to a place dubbed Maddison’s. Gwaine doesn’t even bother to change out of his pyjamas, declaring he has no one to impress. Percival smiles dopily at his boyfriend, oddly enchanted by such logic. No one is overly surprised.

“Have you chosen a date?” Gwen asks Morgana and Leon after they’ve ordered their food.

“Can I be a flower maiden?” Gwaine chimes in, smile a mile wide.

“Will you wear a dress?” Merlin says, supremely amused with the idea.

“Pick the dress and I’ll wear it for every occasion,” Gwaine promises, a gleam in his eyes that says he’s not at all kidding.

“Idiots,” Morgana rolls her eyes but there’s a fond grin on her face. “We’ve decided perhaps sometime in May. Leon’s mother can make it come summertime and well, it’s a great time of year. Maybe even somewhere outside London.”

“Somewhere far?” Lancelot inquires.

“No, I was more partial to Ireland,” Morgana states. “Uther hates it there.”

“And what’s not to love about that?” Arthur says, raising his glass in a toast.

It’s somewhat uncharacteristic of him and the group share glances with one another as a result, silence descending upon them. 

Merlin clears his throat, taking it upon himself to steer the conversation. “Have you chosen godparents yet?” he asks Gwen and Lance.

It causes the ruckus he’d anticipated. The table breaks out in reasons for and against one another to be chosen. Their food finally arrives not long after and that marks a pause in the discussion, empty stomachs taking precedent.

Arthur meets Merlin’s gaze from across the table, warm and knowing. _Thank you, _he says, without actually saying it.

Merlin, for all that he doesn’t quite know, knows.

Mordred, who is not blind, notices.

And the other’s, for whom it is second nature for Merlin and Arthur to _be_ Merlin and Arthur, don’t notice a thing out of the ordinary.

* * *

After lunch the group wanders the area, passing shops and landmarks, and the sort. Morgana wanders into a bridal shop (“Just to see.””) with Gwen and Gwaine at her tails. Leon, Lancelot, and Percival hear talk of a Renaissance Faire and immediately have to know every detail about it. Arthur heads towards the nearest bookshop.

Mordred bids Merlin to sit down with him on a bench easily in reach while the others go off to investigate. They hold hands and sit in companionable silence.

The Christmas lights strung all about the place and shades of vibrant reds and whites and greens and golds make the atmosphere warmer, more magical. The smells of cinnamon and coffee and pine permeate the air. Not even the unrelenting chill can dull the mood, and make no mistake, Merlin is subtly freezing his arse off. But here, sitting and watching the people of Vermont pass them by, children with their parents and lovers hand in hand and siblings and friends; with Mordred’s lips pressed to his hairline, Merlin finds his mind can slow, his guilt can ease, and he can enjoy this moment.

* * *

By the time Merlin is convinced he’s lost all feeling in his legs, his friends return and decide they want to try out some skiing.

“It’s going to be sundown soon,” Percival says, fretting.

“There there, button. We’ll make it,” Gwaine says reassuringly, causing Percy to flush. “Just point me to a vehicle and let me drive.”

Absolutely no one concedes to that. With some inquiries they head to the nearest skiing shop and buy the advised equipment from the person at the front desk, at which Arthur generously offers to pay for, in full. The group hail four pairs of taxis when they’re done. Morgana, Leon and Arthur in the first. Lance, Gwen and their son in the second. Merlin and Mordred pile into the third, and Gwaine and Percy fit in the fourth. 

They drive back to the cabin to redress, preferably something warmer and more flexible to move in.

“Shouldn’t we go to a place?” Gwen voices before they set out. “It seems like a reasonable thing to do, rather than just try blindly out here.”

“We’re already surrounded by a massive slope and snow, Gwen,” Gwaine says. “Our instructors have been skiing before,” he’s referring to Leon, Morgana and Arthur, “and they wouldn’t lead us astray, would you mates?”

Leon readjusts the beanie on his head, “I’ll certainly try not to.”

“No promises,” Arthur responds dryly.

“It’ll be fine,” Lancelot reassures his wife, kissing her brow. “You sure you won’t come?” he addresses Merlin and Mordred, who have chosen to stay inside the cabin to watch Tristan instead of continuing to bait eventual frostbite.

“Oh, we’re sure,” Merlin says.

“We ready?” Morgana emerges, dressed in her own ski wear and excited beyond measure.

“Wait,” Percival sprints upstairs, some rummaging is heard. He comes back down with a video camera. “Knew we brought this for something relevant.”

“I’d hate to know just what the irrelevant reason was,” Arthur states, nose wrinkling at the deplorable notions running through his head just that second.

“Whatever you’re thinking, Princess,” Gwaine taunts with a salacious wink, “that’s exactly it.”

Percival, visibly mortified at the exchange, stares at Gwaine reprovingly. Gwaine, ashamed of nothing, drapes his arms around his boyfriend and kisses his chin.

Used to this kind of nonsense for years now, they each shuffle out of the cabin one by one. Gwen laying one more ‘thanks’ upon Merlin and Mordred for caring after Tristan while they’re out. 

“Poor Percy,” Mordred comments, once he and Merlin are well on their own.

“Look at that! You’re learning.” Merlin says approvingly.

Though the words are for him and at him, Mordred watches the way Merlin retreats. His eyes rest everywhere but on Mordred himself, attention settling back into his own unfathomable thoughts, where Merlin has always sought and found his own comfort. Where Mordred cannot reach him.

* * *

It gets darker sooner than they imagined and the injuries, though not fatal, could have been completely prevented.

Gwaine has obtained a possibly sprained/possibly broken ankle toppling off a slope with nothing but the utter conviction that he’ll be a natural skier right off the bat.

Arthur has obtained a black eye for reaching Gwaine before any of the rest of them, as Gwaine, upon reflex, punched him as soon as Arthur felt for the injury.

Arthur is lying beside Gwaine in the snow when Lance and Percy finally reach them, completely arsed at himself with how he should have seen that shiner coming. For Gwaine, though he can put up with anything, goes into fight or flight mode when it comes to being hurt. It’s a reflex, as a former soldier, that Gwaine has never been able to shaken off. (It’s the cause of Gwaine’s merry alcoholism, too.)

It’s how Gwaine, Percy and Lance met, actually. Lance lasted nearly a year in college studying medieval history (within such time he met Guinevere) before he found he better opted for the army. Lance entered at 22 and was honorably discharged by 30, Gwaine and Percy following him home two years later.

It’s a path Arthur would have chosen for himself, to become a soldier, had Uther not forced him to go into business.

A meaningful stare passes between Lance and Percy, the bigger one giving a subtle nod at the other. Lance goes to his knees, catching Gwaine's attention. “Hey, hey. Look at me Gwaine,” he says with a smile. Percival meanwhile helps Arthur upright. “You’re going to be fine, alright? Trust me?”

At Gwaine’s nod, Lance glances back over at Percy. Another round of nods. Lancelot subtly pulls off a mitten. He moves his body as if glancing behind him before using all his force to throw one well aimed punch and Gwaine is out.

“Better for us all,” Lance says, standing and dusting off his mitten.

“I should’ve remembered that,” Arthur says, assuring Percy he can stand on his own.

“It’s been a few years since he’s had an accident,” Percy responds. “It’s not your fault.”

Arthur is grateful for the ease of kindness Percival offers him. Percival lifts his boyfriend in his arms, bridal style, like Gwaine weights nothing whatsoever.

“Some Christmas Eve, eh?” Lancelot states, cheerily amused, as they begin their ascension back up the slope.

* * *

At first, Merlin’s not alarmed that only Leon, Morgana, Gwen and Arthur return to the cabin, too lost in the book in his lap. Then he sees Arthur’s face.

“What happened?” he’s up and out of Mordred’s embrace, the jolt of movement waking the other man, as he was already dozing comfortably on the couches.

“Gwaine,” Leon answers, and it’s the way he answers it that seems to convey the _why_ and the _how_ and the _what_ of it.

Morgana, bless her, is less vague. “Gwaine broke his ankle but he’s fine, Percy and Lance are with him. He’s at the hospital and due to his injuries they’ve put him on a waiting list, apparently a broken bone isn’t what the Americans label _severe_,” Morgana sounds like she disagrees with this immensely. “It’s going to be a while before he’s back to us, is what I’m getting at. As soon as he’s seen to and everything checks out they should send him on his way.”

Merlin curses.

“Look on the bright side,” Arthur drawls, waving Percival’s video cam in one hand. “It’s all on camera.”

That teases a smile out of Merlin.

“Tristan’s upstairs?” Gwen asks and Merlin nods. “Thank you for watching him, Merlin,” she touches his shoulder before setting off. 

The four of them linger in silence until Morgana declares, “I’m getting a tree.”

Arthur groans.

* * *

Bundling up Tristan and herself, Gwen takes off to the hospital to join her husband an hour or two later. It’s nearly midnight. Morgana is researching possible Christmas trees on her laptop while Leon is snoozing at her side. Arthur is near the fireplace, seemingly content to bask in the warmth.

Mordred wraps his arms around Merlin’s midsection and whispers in his ear, asks him if they can go upstairs, up to bed.

Merlin indulges in another glance at Arthur before nodding his head and following Mordred’s lead, letting Mordred say goodnight to Morgana and tugging him towards the stairs.

When they’re in their room and the door is shut behind them, finally alone, Mordred moves to hover over their bed and begins pulling back the covers. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Merlin’s eyes snap to Mordred’s face. It’s impassive if a little tired.

“Anything wrong?” Merlin asks.

Mordred looks over at him and Merlin feels the guilt triple.

“You know, it was hard at first to work out why no one else notices it but me. It’s not personal, nor intentional, it’s just that everyone, all of your friends, Morgana included, are so used to you and Arthur being as you are, that they hardly bat a lash when boundaries are being crossed right under their noses.”

Merlin wants to speak, wants to deny, but his throat has gone dry and his stomach is in knots, skin buzzing with an energy he’s just now recognizing as anticipation of sorts. 

Mordred continues, “It’s not something apparent, not really. But it’s not subtle either. Your eyes, when he’s in the room they’re drawn to him like you can’t help it, and he to you. When there’s a conversation about, between everyone, you both seem to breathe and exhale like a string is being pulled between you. He says, you say, and it’s gravitational almost. Like you’re both performing an act and you’re one.

“I love you, Merlin,” Mordred declares, “and I could see myself falling in love with you. I could. Honestly, irrevocably, in love with you. But the question here is, do you want that? Could you fall in love back? If truth be told I don’t think you know yet. And it’s fine, it’s… it is what it is, alright? I understand that, I _can_ understand that, but the inevitability of where we are standing right this second, us, is that you’re going to have to choose what you want in the long run and you can’t make a decision like that for the sake of sparing my feelings, or his; that’s not fair to any of us.”

“I do, you know,” Merlin says. It’s pulled out of him because he has to say it, not because it’s expected but because it is true. “I do love you, too. That’s not something that doesn’t matter to me.”

Mordred’s mouth turns up but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He nods. “I know you do,” he responds, voice as watery as his almost-grin. “That’s not what’s in dispute here.”

“Are you,” the words halter. Merlin clears his throat, “Are you breaking up with me?”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” Mordred clarifies, moving away from the bed and walking over towards Merlin. “I’m merely bringing this up to you because it would be juvenile to bring it to anyone else. We are in a relationship, us. I’m not going to go threaten Arthur like you’re my property and I’m defending my mark. I find pissing contests are so very secondary school.”

That startles a laugh out of Merlin. “True enough,” he agrees.

Mordred cups Merlin’s jaw and presses a kiss to his lips, “I’m with you, Merlin, so long as you’re with me too.”

Merlin, for lack of a better answer, seals his lips onto Mordred’s.


	8. Part 8

**Part 8**

The lovemaking that’s about to happen, shouldn’t. Not at this particular instant and not like this. Not when Merlin closes his eyes and all he _sees _and _wants_ and _feels_ is Arthur. Which honestly, he admonishes himself, how embarrassing.

His fingers clutch inadvertently at Mordred’s shirt, at first in efforts to put a stop to this, only Mordred takes it as an incentive to shuffle closer and deepen their kiss. Merlin chalks it down to not having had sex once since they landed in Vermont, but at this point his mind goes utterly blank, giving into the tongue that’s moving so sweetly against his own. His body’s giving in and responding with a heady rush, intoxicating, like a light’s been switched.

Merlin pulls away abruptly. “I just, er,” he stammers, “I think I need some air.”

He stumbles out from the room he shares with Mordred, shutting the door behind him, and takes the steps downstairs, feet clumsy enough to miss a few. The blood that rushed southside makes for some very uncomfortable trousers.

Once downstairs, he finds the lights are out but the brightness emitting from the fireplace is roaring away. Morgana and Leon appear to have since vacated their spot at the sofa and are presumably tucked away in their own bedrooms. Merlin also notes a breeze, his eyes roaming, finding that the front door is open.

He launches forward for a better look, his curiosity getting ahold of him far quicker than sense. The hairs on the nape of his neck rise at the cool air swiping inside and he pauses for a moment to peer at the scene outdoors. It’s pitch dark except for a few stars up in the sky and the flurries that fall in choice places. Merlin chances the outline of a set of footprints on the snow, plain and fresh but familiar. They head in the direction towards the cabin’s personal shed just twenty feet away, the one that houses the wood for the fire and other outdoor equipment.

Shivering in place, half-aroused and annoyed by the implications accompanying them, complex as they are (they damn well shouldn’t be), Merlin decidedly sets off. He’s in such a hurry that his pulse accelerates, as does his breath, his boots crunching the snow beneath his feet with too much might.

“This is all your fault,” Merlin announces loudly, catching Arthur by complete surprise.

The logs he’s holding in hand tumble and his eyes widen in alarm. “Merlin, _no_!”

The door falls shut behind Merlin with a crank and they are plunged into darkness.

“You utter buffoon!” Arthur cries, bumping into Merlin’s own body when he passes by and starts messing with the door. “This door is faulty,” Arthur grunts, tugging at the door to no reprieve, appearing ready to pull it out from its hinges should he have to resort to such a thing. “Now we’re stuck until someone finds us.”

Merlin’s eyes somewhat adjust to the dark and he can see Arthur turn, making out his jawline as if he could map the shape of it blind.

“Well done, Merlin,” Arthur says. The words, though delivered so dry, reek of underlying exasperation.

“You’re the one out in the middle of the night leaving doors open and whatnot,” Merlin says. “And you,” he scoffs, “you probably did this on purpose!”

Arthur sneers, bristling at the mere accusation. It’s dark as hell but Merlin can make it out just by the sound of him.

“Don’t be ridiculous, _Mer_lin. It’s not like I used magic and barred the door shut on purpose!” The height in volume Arthur’s cursing takes indicates he’s restless and anxious, but Merlin can’t quite pinpoint with what.

“Our friends won’t be long,” Merlin says, aiming to placate the man beside him.

“Well that makes it all better, doesn’t it?” Arthur snaps, Merlin winces. Arthur’s never mean, not unless he’s hurt.

“What is it?” Merlin tries, damn it all. “What’s wrong?”

“Why the devil are you out here?” Arthur inquires then.

He’s close. Merlin doesn’t have to see him, he can feel him.

“Don’t,” Merlin says softly, his eyes cast downward. Trying so hard not to touch at the guilt already sitting dead weight on top of his chest for that one.

“Don’t _what_?” Arthur rails back, desperate, and Merlin wants to run, wants to kick that door open and get lost in the snows of Vermont and never be found out. 

“You_ know_ what,” Merlin looks at Arthur pointedly, his eyes agonized. Does Arthur have to see him to know, to see, how tortured he feels for this? “You know exactly what. For this, all of this for… for whatever you’re playing at.”

“I’m not using anything, Merlin! I’m not _playing_.” Arthur cries. Merlin can imagine blue eyes standing out, pinning him right there on the spot. “And you know what?” Arthur’s closer, inching over until Merlin and he are face to face. “I don’t need to claim anything either, I don’t need to do anything. It appears you know that as well as I do, because if I had to, if I had to make a move, _don’t_ would be nonexistent in your vocabulary. It always has when it comes to me, and you know it.” A pause. “That’s why he’s so put upon.”

Merlin feels his throat make a noise, something inside him crack.

“What do you want then?” Merlin demands. Impatience. Anger. The start of that stupid something melding into a place that shouldn’t be touched or poked or prodded. It will lead to one thing, _always_ one thing. Arthur’s voice is already so unrestrainedly intimate to his ears, without even trying. It’s literally the only language they seem to know when it comes to each other and apparently that hasn’t changed, much as Merlin hoped it had. That this was going to be easy and they’d be friends, they could have been friends surely. “Are you planning to take something because it’s there? Because it’s in reach? Right in front of you. Take me? Reach for me? Sure, why not? It’s just Merlin,” Merlin’s aware of how melodramatic he sounds, his voice is high and aching to his ears but it’s this, it’s here. Everything he’s not wanted to remember. Every hurt, every ache. It’s here. “Because no harm can ever be done there! Right? _Right_?!”

Arthur flinches. And it’s the work of a dare in the making. The air has changed, the hair on Merlin’s arms stands on end.

“Prove it, then,” says Arthur. “Reach out and prove there’s nothing to reach for. But if you don’t reach out, then know you never truly let me go. Just let me know, Merlin.”

Moving. That’s what Merlin should be doing. Getting away, getting out. Then again he’s not really known for being anything but stubborn when it comes to a Pendragon and he sure as hell isn’t going to start backing down now.

“I don’t have to do anything, Arthur. Not just ‘cause you say so.”

“Come on, _Mer_lin.” Arthur taunts, softly and whispered, his age old confidence coming to life like a roaring flame, only tempered back to life by Merlin’s kindling.

After a moment Arthur chuckles, like they’re old chums settling a difference in opinions, with absolutely no consequences to speak of.

And _god_, he hates what Arthur can do with his stupid posh voice. Curling his tongue around Merlin’s name like it was made to be used for one purpose; for Arthur Pendragon to drag around, saying it and sending Merlin into helpless little pieces that can hardly ever make him resist the prat.

Destiny is cruel.

“Don’t back down now,” Arthur says quietly, goading.

_Arrogant bastard_, Merlin thinks.

Merlin knows that his destiny is intent on stripping him down. Crowding in until he feels himself come up against the wall at his back. Arthur, close enough, has a look in his blue eyes that says he won’t let Merlin escape him, not again. Embarrassingly, at such a look, Merlin’s knees buckle, giving way, but Arthur reaches out and holds him steady, curling his fingers around Merlin’s waist and crowding ever closer.

In the end, there is no taking, there is no reaching. There never was any letting go.

_Two halves cannot avoid that which makes them whole._

Arthur is so close, so temptingly close, that Merlin can feel the exhale given against his cheek, much too warm on his already flushing skin. Then Arthur’s hand reaches up, resting on his shoulder first, thumb tracing over the cloth there covering Merlin’s lovely collar bone. The one that Arthur loves so much, had worshiped many a time. Merlin’s eyes flutter shut involuntarily at the memories, bright and alive behind his eyelids, as Arthur’s hand moves to caress the side of his neck, taking a clear fascination with the hollow of Merlin’s throat. Arthur’s thumb presses gently, waiting for Merlin to swallow, for his Adam’s apple to come alive, then up, _up_.

Arthur’s touch says it all.

With a lurch forward, Arthur’s lips replace his hand. A chaste press of his lips. Merlin could push him away if he liked. Merlin doesn’t.

Soft, lazy kisses follow. Kisses that are too slow. Kisses that Merlin can’t wait for anymore. He takes Arthur’s face in his hands and kisses him properly.

The response is immediate. Arthur’s there, Arthur’s everywhere. Suddenly there’s not an inch of Arthur that isn’t pressed flush against Merlin and still, it’s nowhere near close enough.

“Hate you,” Merlin utters between kisses, “hate every inch of you.”

Arthur bites his lip for that, breathless when he responds, “Shut up, Merlin.”

His thumbs, Arthur’s marvelous fingers that once liked to trace every inch of Merlin they could reach, restlessly flutter over his limbs until they settle upon Merlin’s hipbones, gripping a handful at first before dipping below the waistline of Merlin’s trousers. Arthur pauses his exploration, fingertips running along the sharp bone that sticks out on Merlin’s hip yet dipping no further than that.

Arthur decides he _really_ wants to put pressure there and he does so with maddening little strokes against the skin that make Merlin keen and whimper into his mouth. Arthur grips tighter and can’t stop his own hips from seeking out, Merlin meeting him mid-thrust.

“_Merlin_!” He chokes out, mouthing at Merlin’s throat and nuzzling against it, his breath hitching when Merlin presses his hips forward again.

Merlin’s mouth is slightly open, his breath coming in short gasps against Arthur’s lips. When Arthur’s hands move from his hips to unabashedly cup fistfuls of his arse Merlin moves one of his legs in place so that when Arthur leans in just _so,_ the friction is to die for. Arthur grunts his thanks at the shell of Merlin’s ear and the next kiss he gives is softer. A short meeting of lips, chaste, before Arthur licks his way into Merlin’s mouth. There’s no need to lay claim there.

Merlin can feel Arthur’s cock with every roll forward of his hips. Suddenly, overwhelmingly, Merlin is seized by the comprehension that every single inch of him that he thought he’d survived without begins to come alive again.

His voice is a raspy mess when he pulls away from the heated kiss and says, “Arth-Arthur stop.”

The cut off whimper that leaves from Arthur sounds heartbreaking and absolutely wrecked, but he stills his hips. Arthur’s entire body shakes from the effort. It warms Merlin’s heart like no other at the fact that Arthur would, that even with all of Arthur’s goading and proclamations that if Merlin asked him, he would stop.

Touched as he is, Merlin doesn’t let that stop him from taking advantage of Arthur’s resistance. He swiftly switches their positions, Arthur’s back now colliding against the wall, his breath exiting from his lips with an elegant _ooof_.

Before Arthur can comprehend much else Merlin is on his knees, cheek pressing against the bulge in Arthur’s trousers.

“Jesus _fuck_, Merlin! Forgot how quick and sneaky and _infuriating _you can be!” There’s a smile in Arthur’s words, Merlin doesn’t even have to see it.

“It’s called charm, dollophead,” Merlin informs before working away at Arthur’s trousers and pulling them down to his ankles. The chill of outside, the timing, the consequences entirely forgotten. “Any last words?” Merlin asks, cheeky smile in place.

“For the love of… shut _up_, Merlin!”

Merlin grins at the high pitch of Arthur’s voice. “That’s really rude, Arthur,” he says and licks his lips before pulling Arthur out from under his pants. He feels hard and swollen and just mouthwatering. Merlin looks up at Arthur and wishes he could see him, not just an outline the darkness and memory provides. He’d like to see Arthur’s eyes when the flutter shut, his mouth wide open and gasping, chest heaving like his lungs are those of a dying man's. It would be beautiful, utterly beautiful.

Arthur’s hand seeks out in the darkness, reaching Merlin’s cheek, cupping it gently, and whispering, “Merlin, please.”

Merlin places a reassuring kiss on Arthur’s palm in answer before he sucks the head of Arthur’s cock into his mouth. Arthur groans, hand moving to rest on the back of Merlin’s neck. Merlin swirls his tongue around the tip, maddening little flicks that he knows turns Arthur into a complete pile of nonsense.

He takes Arthur in slowly, pulling back every so often just to hear that needy little whimper Arthur makes in the back of his throat. When he feels he’s tormented Arthur enough, he hollows his cheeks and sucks. Taking Arthur all the way down until he feels him hit the back of his throat.

Arthur’s hips are shaking, trying so dastardly hard to hold back from thrusting forward into Merlin’s mouth. Merlin grips at Arthur’s hips and instead of holding him back in place, he pulls him closer.

“_Merlin_!” Arthur shouts, not able to stop his hips from thrusting forward.

Merlin groans. Arthur’s taste is so familiar and so missed. It makes Merlin’s insides buzz and sing. He takes the chance to unzip his own trousers and sneak a hand around his own prick while Arthur fucks his face.

Merlin reckons he feels it in his bones just then. If magic existed, this is what it’s made of.

* * *

After, when they’re sitting side by side and the chill of their location is beginning to creep back into their bones, the words flow and it’s as easy as it’s ever been. One of them remembered they had a phone on them and use the light before the battery dies out.

“He’s like me, almost.” Merlin tells Arthur about Mordred. “It’s why I like him. He’s solemn and quiet and clever and sometimes he gets this look about him, like he’s got the world on his shoulders. Like everything hangs in the balance and it’s crushing him.”

Arthur readily disagrees. “Okay, I’ve known Mordred longer than you have and I’m telling you, it’s more likely you’re just projecting your ideals onto him. Hang on, hang on, let me explain,” Arthur says, determined to speak his peace. “I know because there’s not one person on this planet like you, Merlin. I say this with complete certainty, and even as a fact, because I’d know. Okay? I’d bloody know. I’d know you anywhere. Mordred is many things, good things surely, but he’s not you.”

Slowly, Merlin smirks. “You’re a true romantic at heart, you know that? Always have been. It’s quite adorable. Could even be an asset… if you didn’t, you know, open your mouth and ruin it.”

Arthur grimaces. “Oh, I ruin it? Really. Not you, with your uttering nonsenses out loud into the universe? Pfft. Keep dreaming.”

Merlin laughs, thoroughly enjoying every bit of this.

“I quit, you know.” Arthur blurts when Merlin’s settled down some. “In America. Before my father could fire me, or worse, I quit. That’s why I came back.”

“What?” Merlin says, swallowing down the hope that bubbles in his chest at this news. Not for himself, no, but for Arthur. These sound to be the actions of a man finally getting out from under his father’s thumb. It’s all Merlin’s ever wanted for him.

“At altercation happened with my uncle, you do remember my mother’s brother?” At Merlin’s nod, Arthur continues. “He was, well, for legal reasons and to keep you uninvolved, let’s just say he was a traitor at the heart of our business. I sniffed him out, confronted him, he owned up so I fired him. My father, instead of choosing to back me up on this, folded under pressure and chose to cover his arse rather than acting justly. He was about to fire me for acting 'rashly', as he put it, and so I quit.” Arthur looked over at Merlin, a smile forced onto his face. Merlin didn’t smile back. “I got on the first plane back. I haven’t even told Morgana really. She’d make a scene.”

“He’s a rotten old bastard,” Merlin says. A secret thrill runs through him when Arthur doesn’t immediately come to Uther’s defense. Arthur merely shrugs, mouth staying decidedly shut. “You’re too good for him,” Merlin insists.

“You’ve always said that,” Arthur recalls.

“That’s because it’s true,” urges Merlin. “Hey,” he gives Arthur a nudge. Arthur’s eyes met his. “You’ve never had to meet your father’s standards because you’ve long surpassed them. You only ever had to figure it out for yourself.”

“Yeah,” Arthur’s blue eyes glaze over with regret. “Should’ve figured it sooner though. Would’ve saved us both a lot of trouble if I had.”

Merlin laughs and the sound of it cracks, tears of his own falling freely. “Wish you had,” he admits.

“Is this it, Merlin?” Arthur asks despairingly.

Merlin wants to shake his head, to deny that they will ever have an end, but life has infinitely changed them both and their surroundings. Actions, like what happened before this chat, will have its share of consequences. Mordred is still Merlin’s boyfriend and promises built upon a foundation of lies and betrayals never did anyone any favors.

“I’ll always love you, Arthur,” Merlin says. “There’ll never be another like you. Not for me. Not ever.”

Arthur’s silence lasts an age, but eventually, he says, “Thank you. For loving me.”

Merlin exhales. “Thank you for letting me.”


	9. Part 9

**Part 9 **

They’ve hit a lapse of silence, one as comfortable to share together as their words had been. The battery on the mobile blinks up at them at 12%. A source of alarm because they really should call someone about their situations before the power dies out and they freeze to death. Arthur’s already started to lose sensation in his toes and Merlin’s nose looks far too pink in this dim light.

“You know, as we’re here, you could say your peace too,” Arthur suggests, teeth chattering. It’s the right thing to do after all.

“And what peace would that be?” Merlin says, his breath shuddery puffs of air in the space between them.

Arthur smirks. It’s tight and weary. “Peace of mind, Merlin. I’ve done many things I’m not proud of, not to mention those done to you in particular.”

Merlin looks away. “It’s in the past, Arthur. No use drudging it up now.”

“You know as well as I do that the past hardly stays buried as it should. It pops up. I just figured you’d like to get it all out once and for all.”

“Just a second ago you asked me if this was truly it,” Merlin snaps, a sudden agitation in his tone. “Changed your mind so easily, have you?”

Arthur’s mouth falls open in surprise, reading far too many signals being sent and all pointing towards opposite ends. He regathers himself. “I merely thought that we could set all of our cards down tonight in order to move forward freely. That is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“I just had your cum down my throat not half an hour ago, I think it’s startlingly clear I don’t know what I’m doing anymore!” Merlin shouts, standing hurriedly and beginning to pace.

Arthur watches this, his heart filling to bursting with the treacherous burst of hope he’s refused himself any indulgence in. Merlin turning into an unsettling ball of nerves usually indicates a knack for spontaneity is on the horizon. It’s the mad-dash sort of reaction Merlin’s always possessed that Arthur had ceaselessly griped about but fondly adored nonetheless.

Merlin’s shoulders become more and more tense, be it with aggravation or unsatisfaction, whatever was bouncing around in that head of his was turning him a knot. His body starts shivering, he can’t control it anymore, and that’s when Arthur peaks back at the mobile discarded beside him and speaks out.

“Merlin.”

“Shut up!” Merlin says, his hands coming up to cover at his ears, teary-eyed and frazzled to the bone. “Just shut up, Arthur. Just… shut up!”

“It’s 9%,” Arthur states, grabbing the mobile in hand.

Merlin stops his pacing and looks down at Arthur, caught.

“I’m calling Leon,” says Arthur.

Frantically, Merlin goes down on bended knee beside Arthur and tugs the mobile from his hand, holding Arthur’s eye and saying, “Wait. Wait.” It’s placating, desperate. “Forget everything I said, alright? Just, look, I don’t want to lose you again. I can’t. It’s enough, this, right now. We’ll just start over like nothing happened, nothing has to change. What does anyone else matter?”

“Merlin,” Arthur mutters. His name holds a warning, but Merlin rejects it, kisses Arthur anyway. Arthur returns the kiss, however sweet but not long-lived.

Arthur pulls away first, taking back the mobile while he’s at it.

“We’ll do better this time,” Merlin promises. The longing there a knife in both their hearts.

Arthur reaches a hand to cup at Merlin’s neck, an icy fingertip sweeping beneath Merlin’s earlobe. “We’re hurting people,” Arthur says, as kindly as he can, as if it’s that simple. Merlin trembles and he bends his head forward and starts to cry. “And ourselves,” Arthur continues, his voice wobbling with emotion, “and it matters, Merlin. It all matters.”

“Just when did you get so ridiculously noble!” Merlin spits the words out, bitter and resentful, wishing the goodness wasn’t an absolute trait in Arthur’s character for once.

They stare at each other.

Arthur’s eyes gloss over and he blinks, his jaw working furiously. “What I did,” he says, “what I broke.” _You_. “That was all my fault, not yours, never yours. And I owe you a thousand apologies for it, Merlin. I’m so, so sorry.”

It’s unexpected. How Arthur’s slipped it in there, the apology. The damned thing Merlin has been trying to ignore, that any of the rest of it had happened. And what a difference in actuality it makes to hear that. Merlin had been scared, more of the remnants of pain that echoed sometimes from those choice months in his life, his learning to live without Arthur by his side, of what those memories and emotions held within him could still do. Fearful that if he were ever faced with them again that they would possibly swallow him whole. Would he get out alive this time or just barely?

Merlin’s exhale is shaky when he breathes and he feels the airs of conclusion and exhaustion fall over him, gently, calming and hollow. Dead and cold.

“I forgive you,” he tells Arthur, meaning it.

“Can you feel your toes?” Arthur asks unexpectedly and either the light on the mobile has dimmed considerably or Arthur’s gone a shade paler.

Merlin huffs in answer and it’s maddening, the amusement that springs up in his heart for it, this new lightness felt in his heart. “I can’t feel anything, you tosser,” he replies and lets himself slides back in place beside Arthur, his arse coming in contact with the ground.

Arthur calls Leon. Merlin lets him.

Merlin’s body shakes harder in the time after. From the cold, he’ll say, later. No one will even think to question the effects of something akin to emptiness.

* * *

“You’re both bloody idiots!” Morgana shouts. It’s 4AM on Christmas day and she’s dragging Arthur by his shirtsleeves into the emergency room, like a 9-year-old. Leon’s conveniently stayed behind to pay the taxi. “I can’t believe you, your thoughtlessness! Have you any idea just exactly how you’ve ruined Christmas?”

“I’m not the one hysterically dragging me to hospital,” Arthur mouths back if only to get a rise out of her.

Morgana doesn’t bite, instead, she whirls around to face him and says, “That’s because you’re not a sensible adult, Arthur Pendragon. Thank you for finally admitting it.” She points him towards the waiting room, “Sit down and shut up. I’m going to deal with the front desk.”

Leon had saved Merlin and himself from freezing to death over an hour ago. The three of them decided it best to just get on with it, and so he and Merlin had propped themselves around the fire while Leon poured them a decent amount of mulled wine to warm them. During that time, Gwen and the rest of the gang got back from hospital. Lance and Gwen headed straight to bed with their son while Percy and Gwaine sat to chat. Gwaine, happy as a clam, shows off his new cast and describes in detail the absolute filth he’s going to decorate it with. Leon insistently made tea, ever the mother hen.

Of course, as Leon was missing from her bed, Morgana eventually got up to seek out her fiancé. She found the lot of them thrown over the couches giggling and chatting in hushed tones in the wee hours of morning. Arthur’s had his suspicions before but now he’s positive she’s some kind of witch because one look at him and she figured him out, needling at it until she got to the naked truth. Which, Leon, though he tries his remarkable best to be tact, for Arthur and Merlin's sakes, in the end, gives in. Because he won’t lie to her. Upon hearing Merlin and Arthur had been locked outside for hours, Morgana fucking lost it. She’d insisted on taking them to the hospital, on waking up Mordred and letting him know about it and for him to come along. Merlin, sly opportunistic arse he is, used his long-blinking lashes and feigning tiredness to get out of it, promising to let Mordred know himself. Morgana relented to that. Arthur however was not so lucky, and so here he was. In a hospital waiting room with Morgana on Christmas Day.

Momentarily Morgana sought out the seat next to him and Arthur says, “You know we’re going to spend all day here.”

“Well you should have thought of that before being a fucking idiot,” she replies lowly, her lips barely moving.

“We got locked out, it was an accident,” Arthur says. “We’re fine.”

With an elegant eyebrow raised, Morgana’s green eyes met Arthur’s blue. She’s frowning, beseeching and disappointed.

Arthur sniffs. “An accident,” he maintains.

“An accident it may well be, but we all have choices, Arthur.” Morgana says evenly. “I’m going to get you seen to and take care of you. That’s my choice.”

Arthur, with no argument left in him at that, sinks further into his chair and prepares himself for a wait.

Leon stays suspiciously absent.

* * *

The bed is warm. Merlin can’t feel the bite of the cold anymore. Arthur’s icy fingertips pressing gently (and not so gently) against his skin are gone, as are his bruising, engulfing kisses and his absurd streak of nobility, irritating to abide by in any situation least of all this one.

Mordred has gone downstairs.

Merlin had shut his eyes when his boyfriend had snuck a glance at him, prolonging the inevitable for just a moment longer. He’s never been a coward but he’s also never been so tired. Bone tired and love-ridden and indescribably desolate, so much so to the point that he can’t fit in this life, can’t breathe in this skin.

He can hear someone’s come back into the room, shuffling inside quietly and shutting the door with equal force.

Merlin takes a deep breath and urges his bones to move, to sit up and turn to face his own actions. He meets the sight of Mordred there, cup in hand. Mordred looks nowhere near as anxious as Merlin feels, he does look shut down, however. Closed off in a way Merlin has never known him to be, not to him. 

“I got off with Arthur,” Merlin confesses, the words coming out as clear as they possibly can. Merlin doesn’t have the energy to repeat himself.

Mordred’s face remains impassive, utterly expressionless, giving Merlin no such response as to what he truly feels.

Mordred looks down at his cup and takes a sip, nodding. “I’d suspected.”

“I’m sorry,” Merlin says. The urge to say it is immediate, because he does care, he does feel horrible. Little help though that does in the face of his actions, he knows.

Mordred shakes his head. “I told you to choose. You chose. Congratulations to the both of you.”

“Mordred,” Merlin says.

“Don’t,” Mordred says sharply, eyes slipping shut in what appears to be agony before he schools his face back into the mask that looks far too alien to sit on such a young, fresh face as his.

“I never meant to hurt you, Mordred.”

Mordred’s face twists up like he’s about to cry and he hurriedly turns away, his back facing Merlin, shoulders hunched, sniffling. “Doesn’t matter,” comes the reply, pitiful and watery, “you did. It’s done.” Mordred pointedly clears his throat, “We’re done.”

Mordred regains his composure and sets his cup down on the bedside table. “I’m going to ask you a favor because I need to go, I need to get out of here now. I can’t stay here with this happening, I can’t bear it. You understand?”

Mordred chances a glance at Merlin, the soft face Merlin has known only as clever and whimsical and sweet completely changed, crumpled and heartbroken and crying. Merlin agrees, heart in his throat. Buckling under the weight of it, the knowledge that he’s done this. It’s his fault and nothing he does now can fix it. 

“Pack my things,” Mordred bids, “have Morgana send them to me, I’ll pay her back. I’ve got a flight to catch.”

Without another word, Mordred flees the room. He seems a small thing, fleeing in the daylight. That’s what Merlin has reduced him to.

He could have handled this better. Been kinder and less impulsive. He could have hurt Mordred _less_. It was simple selfishness on his part, there’s no justification for it. He starts to regret it and then hates himself because a flare of defensive fury rushes up inside of him and shouts _but how could I ever regret Arthur?_

And so, there, on Christmas Day, broken up with yet surrounded by Mordred’s things, Merlin has to take a good hard look at himself and come to grips with what he’s done and who exactly he is now and figure out just how he’s going to live with himself.

* * *

“It’s not your fault,” Arthur murmurs to his sister, two and a half hours later, still in that damnable waiting room.

Morgana continues staring blankly in front of her. “What isn’t?”

Arthur sighs, sick of the farce. “You know exactly what. It’s why you dragged me away like you were the guilty party in it all. It’s why you won’t quite look at me.”

Morgana blinks, her mouth twisting up with the urge to deny such a statement. She doesn’t. She sounds unsure when she asks, “Merlin won’t sweep it under the rug, right? He won’t let this continue, after whatever happened between the two of you has so obviously happened.”

“It’s not obvious,” scoffs Arthur. “You only know because you’re you. Fucking creepy as ever, by the way.”

Morgana huffs, surprised by her amusement and then chaste again in seconds, the seriousness of the situation being demanded by her glare.

“Merlin will do the right thing,” Arthur says with conviction. “He always does. It takes him a minute, when he has conflictions, but he’ll do right by Mordred because it’s the right thing to do. Do you know he’s always been mortified with himself like he’s the most horrible person for struggling against what he wants and what’s right? Like I’m the one always doing the right thing? Like I didn’t learn how to do that from him?”

Despite everything, Morgana eyes her brother warmly. It is Christmas, she can allow it today.

“It’s so fucking infuriating that you’re both so inevitably each-others. I should have known better than to get Mordred involved with all this. That’s my fault.”

“You couldn’t have known, Gana.” Arthur argues. “I fucked up. That was on me. You were trying to help. That’s never a bad thing. Ever. And I could’ve… stopped what happened. That’s on me again.”

“Merlin was a willing participant,” Morgana points out. “He never does anything he doesn’t want to.”

“Including dating Mordred,” Arthur reminds.

Morgana places a hand over Arthur’s arm in thanks. She sighs, “Come on. Let’s go back.”

“Thought you wanted to get me seen to!”

Morgana stands gracefully. “If you were feeling the least bit poorly you’d never shut up about it. You’re rational and calm and happier than I’ve seen you in a year. Arse.” A pause. “Come now, we’re missing out almost certainly.” She extends her hand and Arthur takes it.

Morgana texts Leon. He’s got an odd-shaped box poorly hidden beneath his jumper when he meets them at the exit of the hospital.

After Morgana hisses, “those better not be fucking gingerbread cookies, Leon, I swear to god,” and Leon denies his sweet tooth indulgence to the heavens, it’s left questioned.

* * *

Arthur, Morgana, and Leon arrive back at the cabin to find all of their friends gathered in the lounge couches – with the exception of Merlin and Mordred.

The fire is warm and alive, a Rolling Stones record is playing from someone’s phone and Percy moves forward to push a cup of wine into their hands as soon as they slip out of their jackets.

Morgana slips onto one of the couches gratefully, terribly exhausted, while Leon sneaks up the stairs with his mysterious box-shaped jumper intact.

“Mordred’s left,” Gwen announces, halting anyone of further action.

The room goes quiet, the knowledge settles. 

Morgana’s eyes land on Arthur, less subtle than the others, who at least try to find something else to look at. Arthur finds he doesn’t move an inch until his sister relents, tips her head forward in the slightest, giving her blessing silently.

* * *

Merlin’s sobbing. Has actively been a blubbering mess since Mordred left. Because Mordred’s left, because of his own personal actions causing Mordred to flee, because he still loved Arthur more, and because his Mum would be so disappointed in him for the lot of it.

It’s all piled up. He’s coiled in fetal position on the mattress and is currently attempting to push his fist further against his lips in order to contain the sobs and hiccups from sounding off too loudly. The last thing he wants is one of his friends coming up to find him in this state.

Merlin’s head is pounding. His tears and snot are everywhere. He’s an utter wreck. God, he hates the holidays.

“Hey.” It’s Arthur’s voice. Merlin feels himself uncurling from the inside out, a sense of relief finally being afforded to him. Arthur’s fingers card through his hair lovingly, pushing it back and pressing kisses to cheeks, his eyes, his forehead, saying, “Breath. C’mon, Merlin. That’s it, just breathe.”

Arthur slides into the bed with him, situating himself like a cocoon, curling around Merlin and holding him and telling him he loves him. He tells Merlin that, again and again and again. And Merlin gasps out; the might of love given so freely, so returned, catching him completely unawares.

“I love you, too,” whimpers Merlin into Arthur’s shirt, right into his chest. He tangles his legs with Arthur’s and reaches a hand to cup at the back of Arthur’s neck, never wanting to let this moment go. Arthur kisses the bridge of Merlin’s nose with such gentleness, their foreheads aligning. 

“So, no offense, but you look fucking terrible,” Arthur cracks a grin, openly beaming right in front of Merlin’s face.

Merlin groans, fucking unsurprised as ever. “God, I take it back. I don’t love you one bit.”

“You wouldn’t bloody dare,” the smile doesn’t leave Arthur’s face. That private _Merlin you idiot I’m stupidly in love with you_ smile that only ever belonged to Merlin. _Home_.

_Stupid teeth_, Merlin thinks.

Arthur’s smile softens and his eyes shine with a fondness so full of heart that Merlin can’t bear it much longer.

“You always were horrible with pleasantries, that was always where I came in,” Merlin says.

“I am sensational with pleasantries.” Arthur maintains. “I’m not the idiot you make of me.”

“Oh, trust me I had nothing to do with it,” Merlin assures him.

“You had _everything_ to do with it.” Arthur insists warmly.

In this moment, Merlin finds he’s still struck with how Arthur Pendragon is actually possible. He’s a prat, yes, but he’s also unwaveringly loyal and kindhearted. Underneath all that arrogance he hides behind, Arthur is so wholly decent and good and Merlin doubts he can ever live without the man again. But he’s getting ahead of himself.

“Okay, fair enough,” Merlin admits. “But if I made you an idiot you made me impossibly stupid so I guess we’re even.”

“I can accept that,” Arthur concedes.

* * *

After some more kisses and cajoling, Arthur gets Merlin to come downstairs with him. They make it just in time to see Morgana opening a present from Leon. From the box on her lap (the shape of the box looking suspiciously similar to the one Leon smuggled from the hospital) Morgana pulls out a decent sized snow globe.

“You said you wanted a Christmas tree,” Leon explains, “but with all the fuss made, you never got around to it. I just figured, well. This ought to do for now.”

“Oh, Leon,” Morgana stares at the Christmas tree decorated splendidly inside the sizable snow globe. With large round eyes and a quivering bottom lip, she smiles beatifically. “It’s perfect,” she says. “I love you so much.” She throws her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

“Princess! Merlin!” Gwaine shouts merrily, noticing Merlin and Arthur huddled and watching the end of the stairs. “Get your fine arses over here! You’re missing out!”

Arthur and Merlin join their friends and family.


	10. EPILOGUE

** _EPILOGUE_ **

** _Seven Years On_ **

Arthur picks up on the third ring. “Hey, babe, jus-”

“Shut up, it’s time.”

“The time? What do you mean the - _oh_. Oh shit, really? _Now_?”

“I know, and I said shut up! I’m in a taxi as we speak so be waiting outside.”

* * *

The streets prove difficult to navigate at the hour, it being Christmas day and all. Traffic and people and snow _everywhere_.

It takes a great toll on Merlin to hold back from accosting the cabbie to go any faster so instead he simply grinds his teeth together, eyes glued to the front windshield, telepathically willing the streets clear and for the destination to be of easier access.

Eventually they pull up into the building Arthur is already pacing outside. He makes a beeline for the taxi at the sight of Merlin throwing the door open and shoves himself inside with haste. 

“Hospital, please,” Merlin directs to the cabbie next, and then they’re back in traffic.

“What time did you receive the call?” Arthur questions, wringing his hands together. They’re not impervious to the cold, even covered in fancy black leather gloves.

“Our lawyer called me an hour ago,” Merlin explained, “said the birth mother went into labor and we should get to the hospital as soon as we could. Could be hours still, who knows, but at least we’ll be there.”

Arthur exhales loudly. “Wow.”

“Yeah,” Merlin says, abuzz with energy.

As if Arthur notices this, he removes a glove from his hand and grasps at one of Merlin’s own. Their fingers entwine. A shiny silver band peeking out from Arthur’s ring finger catching Merlin’s eye and he smiles, eyes darting down to spy his own matching pair.

The car ride is quiet up until they reach the hospital, Arthur’s confidence calming Merlin from his own somersaulting emotions. Arthur pays the cabbie upon arrival and it drives away. He and Merlin stop to linger at the entrance, then. Both suspended by the moment as if they both intrinsically know a quiet second spent before their life potentially expands is a wise idea.

“This could be the first day to the rest of our lives, you know that?” Arthur comments at Merlin’s side.

Merlin glances at his husband. “You worried?”

Arthur scrunches up his nose, “I wouldn’t call it worry, no. Rather, anticipation. That’s more of what I’m feeling.”

“Yeah,” Merlin agrees. “A bit daunting though. I’m scared someone will suddenly decide we don’t measure up or change their minds or something equally horrible.”

Arthur coaxes Merlin gently, winding an arm around his waist. Merlin leans some of his weight against Arthur’s body, finding relief just from the proximity.

He’s been married to Arthur for five years now. Into their second year of marriage, they’d finally agreed to go through with the options offered by adoption agencies only to lose their first child to birthing complications. Their second chance was to be foiled by the parents changing their minds at the last minute. Both instances hardened Merlin’s heart at first, leaving no doubt in Merlin’s mind that the heartache born in Vermont seven years ago had brought on karma he’d simply have to live with, though he never entertained it would be something like this. That they would be so close to becoming parents, not once but twice, only for their chances to slip away like they’d never been theirs in the first place.

Of course, Arthur being Arthur, after Merlin expressed such niggling worries, always maintained firmly that Merlin had never spoke more rubbish in his life.

“This isn’t like before, Merlin,” Arthur assures softly, his lips pressing against Merlin’s temple.

Of that, Arthur is correct. This time they’ve opted for a surrogate. This child is theirs, insofar that it has either his or Arthur’s DNA.

“Come on,” Arthur nudges his shoulder gently and Merlin relents, meeting his eyes and giving a single nod.

They walk down to the front desk, hand in hand, intending to inquire over the birthmother. Their lawyer, Mithian, flags them down, having just come off the elevator.

Arthur thanks the woman at the front desk before they make their way over to Mith.

“She’s delivering in B Wing, fourth floor,” Mithian informs them before her iPhone chimes and she glances down towards the mobile. She types out a quick message before looking back up. “Sorry about that. There’s a specific waiting area for that area. You sit yourselves down and if you want to inquire further, you say you’re family, because that’s what you are. If they want more information tell them to sod off, they can just look it up in the charts like the right nosy buggers they are.”

Merlin’s lips split in a grin at the grouchiness being thrown their way. He gives Arthur a glance and he shrugs back, clearing his throat for added effect.

“You alright there, Mith?” Arthur wonders.

“Bloody wonderful,” Mithian responds in the same placid tone as before. “Listen, I’ve got to go deal with this,” she waves her phone at them. “You darlings be good, yeah?” She begins to walk away, phone already at her ear before turning abruptly. “Oh, and Happy Christmas and all that. Call me if you need me. And _congratulations_!”

They watched her walk away fondly.

“What do you reckon got her in a mood?” Merlin says.

“It’s the holidays, Merlin.”

And, alright, that does present various reasons.

They take the elevator to the fourth floor and find the location of the B Wing waiting room. The area is reasonably filled with anxious families but luckily Merlin and Arthur find themselves a pair of chairs.

“Did you text the others?” Arthur asks his husband.

“Didn’t think to,” Merlin admits. “I got the call and then I called you, and, well. You?”

“I’ll text Gana,” Arthur says, fetching his mobile. “She can tell the rest of England.”

Merlin does the same, reasoning, “I should at least tell Gaius myself.”

Arthur texts swiftly and Merlin steps outside to make the phone call.

* * *

By the time a doctor comes out to introduce herself, Arthur and Merlin are joined in the waiting room by Morgana, Leon, and Gwen.

“Everything went great,” the doctor says. “They came in at seven pounds, both of them.” The woman goes on at length after that, however, all Merlin can hear between the blood rushing through his ears is _the both of them, _again and again and again.

“Can we see them?” he hears Arthur ask.

Merlin holds his breath.

The doctor, Dr. Okju, smiles. “Come this way.”

Morgana sneaks in a hug before Merlin is led away, Arthur’s grip on his hand is his only lifeline. He’s moving as if in a trance, sluggish and disbelieving.

The doctor calls a nurse to see to them. The nurse, a chatty bloke, makes small talk with them the entire way to the Nursery.

“There they are,” the nurse points, peaking into the glass window that separates them from the newborns.

Merlin and Arthur, hand in hand, move forward.

And then, there they are.

_Twins Emrys-Pendragon_. It’s written, scribbled upon the side.

“Thank you,” Arthur says with feeling.

And at least he’s at full function because Merlin’s quite ridiculously gone, turning into a blubbering mess the longer he looks upon their two newborns, squirming and pink and wrinkly. Those are their girls. _Their_ children. Their Christmas miracles.

“My pleasure. Congratulations,” the nurse bids them before scampering off to grant them some privacy.

Arthur sighs, a noise sounding at the back of his throat, clawed out of him. One that Merlin knows he’d be embarrassed to make in any other given situation.

“They’re… perfect.” Arthur says.

Merlin laughs joyously.

Arthur kisses him.

* * *

Isolde Emrys-Pendragon is like her father. Blonde of hair and blue of eye. Brave and precocious and sporting a smile that lights up the world like the sun. She is known to play with plastic swords while wearing princess dresses and enjoys planting crowns upon a ten-year-old Tristian’s head when his parents bring him over to visit, declaring him her prince. Uncle Gwaine is her favorite. 

Albion Emrys-Pendragon is like her father, too. With hair an inky black and eyes as dark a blue as the evening sky. She’s fiery and curious and cleverer than most. Her ears poke out from underneath her hair and when she smiles, she bears her teeth. She loves Harry Potter more than Frozen but wants to learn magic one day all the same. Uncle Gwaine is her favorite. 

**\- E N D - **


End file.
